


The Shadow of Dawn

by Elia41



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Disabled Character, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Past Violence, Racism, Religious Conflict, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-27 12:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15685566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elia41/pseuds/Elia41
Summary: Lyrian doesn't remember anything before the Calamity. Bahamut's rampage robbed him of his memories. Five years after the cataclysm, an incident forces him out of Gridania and the Twelveswoods to the shores of Limsa Lominsa. His memories are coming back, but it isn't nearly enough and joining the Rogues' Guild proves to not be the smartest idea. Is it him or does Nymeia have it for him ?





	1. A song in the sails

_From the verdant trees of the Twelveswoods to the warm sands of Thanalan, and over the tides of the_ _Rhotano_ _Sea_ _to the white walls of Limsa Lominsa…_

Lyrian awoke with a jump. It wasn’t the first time he had nightmares, but this one was particularly unpleasant. Fighting a creepy man in dark robes that reeked of darkness wasn’t his definition of a sweet dream, especially if it left him with the gut feeling something bad was about to happen. Dreams were meant to fade when you woke up.

The Duskwight grumbled. He had nothing against the rolling and, in fact, he found it rather soothing. It also made him hungry. He took his knapsack and dug a ginger biscuit. A little away, a merchant in red dress was trying in vain to strike a conversation with a pair of Elezen twins. This made him smile. The kids looked no older than sixteen, not even grown adults yet.

Not that he had any room to complain. At nineteen, he had just finished his own growth and was standing a little over seven feet, as tall as a full-grown Roegadyn. Combine this with a deep bass-baritone voice, ashen skin, silver hairs and vibrant purple eyes and Lyrian was pretty much your archetypal Duskwight. Except most of his kin was bandits and he was a bard, just like the man who had raised him after the Calamity.

Lyrian didn’t remember anything before the cataclysm. Whatever had happened to him during Bahamut’s temper tantrum had left him a physical and mental mess. Jehantel had been clear on the matter: that he wasn’t physically crippled was a miracle given the blood he’d found the boy covered with. Sure, he was amnesiac, but others had suffered much worse fates. Even better, the amnesia was temporary. Slowly, drop after drop, Lyrian’s memories were returning. The first one to return had been his mother’s voice soothing him to sleep. The Duskwight had good hopes the remaining missing pieces would return within the next two years. Not that much was missing, now.

What annoyed him was that the still missing parts were the most important. His hometown’s name, as well as the names and faces of his parents and family members, the name of that Hellsguard Roegadyn with whom he spent most of his time as a child – his best friend. Why couldn’t he recall his best friend!? Anyway, it was getting on his nerves. Taking a breath, he decided to get out. He needed to clear his head. The merchant followed him.

“I get it the kids are bad company?”

“Aye.” The man sighed. “Not very talkative, that’s fer sure. Are ye fine, by the way? Saw ya trash in yer sleep…”

“Just a nightmare. It happens. The roil was soothing.”

“Eh, yer lucky it dinna gave ya sea-sickness. Not the first time gettin’ on a ship?”

“Well… It’s the first time, actually.” Lyrian shrugged. “I grew up in the Black Shroud. Vesper Bay was the first time I saw the sea. It made me feel peaceful.”

The merchant laughed.

“Then ye be feelin’ just fine in Limsa Lominsa! Simple question, though: why did ye leave? I heard life in Gridania’s pretty quiet.”

Lyrian winced and looked away. It was a little more than a week since Foulques had died, and the wound was still fresh.

“I was exiled for hitting a Padjal.”

The merchant made an about-turn.

“Ya hit a Padjal? Those horned folks that commune with the elements and rule the city?”

“I was trying to heal someone and they told me to stop because his death was the will of the Elementals. By the time I was done arguing, Foulques had died, so I got angry and slapped O-App-Pesi across the face. Kan-E-Senna kicked me from the city for it and I told them good riddance. Now, between Ishgard’s isolationism and Ul’Dah’s corruption, Limsa Lominsa was pretty much the only city-state left for me to go.”

The merchant whistled.

“Yer lucky them dinna have ya killed.”

“Funnily enough, the same Elementals that let Foulques die insisted that I was kicked from the Twelveswood. Had it been anyone else, it would have been death but, for some reasons, the fey spirits personally declared that my fate was to be exile. I remember Kan-E-Senna listening to them before calling the sentence. No one could believe someone who hurt a Padjal could get away with his life but, well, no Gridanian worth his salt is stupid enough to argue with a spirit of the Woods. So, here I am.”

The merchant nodded.

“That’s quite the past, ya got. That Foulques guy, was he a friend or…”

Lyrian looked away, uneasy. He didn’t really know how to answer.

“He was… It’s complicated. He was someone who has suffered a lot, and I was the only one trying to soothe his pain. The others treated him like a criminal. I tried to save him…”

His eyes clouded with tears at the memory. It hurt. A lot. It hurt so much…

“I could have saved him! I was about to save him! I had prevented him from falling in a chasm, and he was crying in my chest… All the pain, all the anger in him had found an outlet and he was releasing it all, and we were going to confront the authorities on how they mishandling him had turned him into a criminal in the first place and it was their fault all this mess had happened… But then! But then… one of the Wood Wailers threw his spear in his back. It didn’t kill him on the spot, but the wound was severe. I got so mad I took the spear and threw it at the Wood Wailer. It struck his heart. Then I tried to heal Foulques, but O-App-Pesi stopped me and he… He…”

Tears fell freely as Lyrian relived the scene once more. Foulques had uttered a _thank you_ before passing away, grateful of Lyrian’s efforts to help him.

“I couldn’t save him! They stopped me. That’s unfair! He didn’t deserve to die!”

The merchant nodded pensively, fully understanding the Duskwight’s grief. He watched him cry over the rail. Obviously, the young man had been bottling his feelings for awhile. Lyrian sniffled and whipped his nose.

“Feelin’ better, lad?”

“Yes. You’re the first person I’m sharing that story with. I… didn’t really mean to, but I guess I needed to get it out.”

“Sure looked like it weighted on yer heart somethin’ big.”

“Yeah… Speaking of big, what’s that?”

Silhouettes appeared one by one on the horizon. One of the sailors gave it a look before jumping back.

“Llymlaen helps us! Pirates!”

The merchant’s reaction was to gawk like a fish. Lyrian’s reaction was to take his weapon, a bow whose shape made it also a harp, and notch an arrow.

“If they want my riches, they’ll have to kill me for it. I am going to kill them first.”

The pirates fired several times, cannonballs hitting close to the ship. The merchant ducked safely as a sailor came to them.

“Get inside! You will be safer here.”

“I am a bard and former member of the Lancer’s Guild.” Lyrian retorted. “I know how to fight, and I fully intend to do so.”

The sailor took a good look at the Duskwight. The man was a bit taller than him, clad in outlandish blue, white and red clothes. His boots were a deep crimson shade while his top and pants seemed to have some kind of scale armor. The burning spark of trained fighters shone in his eyes.

“Very well, sir. If they get too close, feel free to send any of these sons of fishes to the Seven Hells.”

“It will be my pleasure…”

Fortunately, the wind was with them and the pirate ships never got close enough that Lyrian had to demonstrate his skills. Once the ship was safe and the harbor was in sight, the red merchant returned to the deck.

“Ya got nerves o’ steel, lad. To stay with the crew to fight those bastards…”

“I’ve seen worse odds than that.”

“Well, I’m not gonna ask. Still, pirates hittin’ Lominsan ships in broad daylight… Where goes the world?”

Lyrian didn’t answer. He just wanted to recover his memories.

“…To be truly honest, I’m amnesiac. Something happened during the Calamity that made me lose all my memories. They’ve been coming back for the past five years, but it’s not really enough to tell me who I am. I know my name is Lyrian Sombréclipse and I’m nineteen, but when I awoke in the Twelveswood, this was as far as they went.”

“Nineteen… This would mean ye were only fourteen when the Calamity struck? Hey, but yer pretty young!”

“Younger than I look, I know.”

The merchant laughed.

“I thought ye were in yer late twenties at least and ya haven’t even hit ‘em yet! Ha! So, first time settin’ to Limsa Lominsa?”

“Yes. I traveled to Ul’Dah to learn fist-fighting and some thaumaturgy, and across the Dravanian lands with my master in a quest for a legendary song. I was sixteen at the time. But I never went to Limsa Lominsa, and the less we speak of Ishgard, the better. I don’t know which is the coldest.” The Duskwight joked. “Ishgardian weather or Ishgardian temper!”

The merchant laughed along.

“True that! Been to Ishgard once or twice. The folks don’t like foreigners, that’s fer sure! So about Limsa Lominsa, sit down and listen, lad. I happen to know the city like the back of me hand…”

They talked until the ship docked at last. Thanks to the merchant, Brennan, he mostly knew the city’s layout and where to find what he wanted, as well as the city’s history. Brennan even gave him a small ring as a parting gift. Lyrian’s next step was to locate the aetheryte and attune with it. If he was going to make Limsa Lominsa his home, attuning to the stone was mandatory. No sooner was he done that a Yellowjacket accosted him.

“Hey, you! I don’t recall seeing you around. Are you new?”

“I just arrived.” Lyrian explained. “I’m a bard.”

“A bard, eh? One of those wandering minstrels singing songs and telling tales to those who want to hear them…”

 “I’m looking to settle in Limsa Lominsa. I… don’t really have anywhere else to go at the moment.”

The Yellowjacket laughed.

“I hope you know more than knight tales then, because we ain’t the kind to sing for pretty knights in shining armor!”

“Oh, I know. I think I got a few sea shanties up my playlist. Something to drunkenly sing along to. Besides, I am not a minstrel. When I say I am a bard, I mean I’m one of those archers who sing during battle to motivate troops. I am… better than you would expect with a bow. _Much_ better.”

The Yellowjacket’s eyes widened.

“You’re a fighter as well? That pretty face and exotic clothes could’ve fooled me! Well, if you got skills with a bow, I’m pretty sure you’ll find some targets around. We’re always taking volunteers for pest control.”

“As long as I can afford a meal, I’m good. I don’t mind sleeping under the stars, but starving is out of question.”

The Yellowjacket nodded.

“Very well. Go up to the Drowning Wench and talk to Baderon. You don’t seem to be an adventurer, so no need to sign up, but if you offer your talents as a singer, I guess he won’t mind giving you a spot. We Lominsans are always ready for some fun.”

Listening to the man’s indications, Lyrian set to the inn. Baderon was a brown-haired man in his forties, clad in green and brown and spotting a white bandana. All in all, the archetypal Lominsan sailor.

“Greetin’s to ye, lad. What’ll it be?”

“Some orange juice, a spot as a singer if you need one and the names of people who could use a handyman, or maybe even a hunter.”

Baderon raised his head and raised a brow at the sight of the outlandish Duskwight.

“Ye sure yer not an ‘venturer?”

“No. Just a bard looking to settle in Limsa Lominsa and find a stable job.”

Baderon nodded. He could see the white harp in the Elezen’s back.

“A singer, uh? Aye, the Drownin’ Wench could use an ‘tertainer. But ye better not be singin’ flat or me patrons be hoistin’ ya from the yardarm!”

“Then, will you be satisfied with a demonstration?”

“Go ahead, lad.”

As he prepared the juice, Lyrian sat in a corner, took his harp and began to sing a lively tune.

 _Out on the endless ocean,_  
_We tear along the gales_  
_With rum inside our bellies warn_  
_And freedom in our sails._

 _A wayward bunch o’ scoundrels,_  
_Assassins, thieves and slaves,_  
_The rich and blue blood fear us_  
_When we hunt upon the waves!_

 _And when you see it coming,_  
_That flag of baleful black,_  
_No point in turning tales,_  
_There’s no escaping our attack!_

Baderon and most patrons turned to the Duskwight, eyes wide.

“Beneath the Black Flag”, a song famous among pirates during their golden age. The song was old and few sang it nowadays, especially now Merlwyb was cracking down hard on piracy, but it was still heard once in awhile. It was also very catchy. Now, where did the Elezen learn it?

Lyrian kept singing, oblivious to people’s surprise, merely happy to partake in his craft.

Someone sang along, a Lalafell with a high-pitched voice who wielded a pair of knives.

 _Defy the odds against us,_  
_A pirate knows no fear,_  
_Our steel is ready and_  
_Our retribution is severe._

 _We plunder from the greedy_  
_With blood and with our steel,_  
_We rob the rich of their ill-gotten gains_  
_And make them kneel._

 _Behold the ocean’s mysteries,_  
_The tales of ancient deeds._  
_We follow in the footsteps of_  
_A silent, secret creed…_

A small number of patrons joined the song.

 _YO-HO! YO-HO!_  
_We row beneath the black flag!_  
_A rollickin’ we go,_  
_We own the sea and sky!_

 _YO-HO! YO-HO!_  
_We row beneath the black flag!_  
_A rollickin’ we go,_  
_We bleed the kingdoms dry!_

“Hoist the colors, lads!” Someone shouted enthusiastically.

Everyone laughed. Baderon gave Lyrian his cup of juice.

“Congrats’ lad. Yer hired.”

The Duskwight grinned.


	2. Dagger and crystal

Baderon had absolutely no regret. The Duskwight bard, Lyrian, was talented at his craft. More and more people gathered at the Drowning Wench the evening to savor a tankard as he sang his songs, and it helped that the Elezen knew how to fight. Belying its appearance, the harp was actually an odd-shaped bow the man knew how to use just fine, as Lyngsath could attest. Upon hearing Lyrian was taking odd jobs, he had asked him several times to hunt lambs, dodos and crabs to refill the Bismarck’s stocks. Lyrian also brought back harvests from Summerford Farm and Red Rooster Stead, acting as a handyman for those reluctant to call for adventurers.

Lyrian wasn’t interested in adventuring. He just wanted a steady job and a good meal. The roof was optional in his opinion, but Baderon still provided him, taking from his pay the cost of the rent. So, the Duskwight was living in a separate but still comfortable room at the Drowning Wench rather than on a stray bed under the stars.

“My master and I lived in a hollowed trunk when we were in the Twelveswood.” Lyrian explained. “Just us, a campfire, the wildlife and our instruments, and that’s when we weren’t traveling across the Realm in search of new songs. The Quarrymill was nearby when the weather was bad. That’s why I’m used to having stars over my head.”

A sober life. The Elezen’s outlandish clothes were just for appearances. Bards were expected to look like foreigners, so he made a point of looking the part. He had a set of regular linen clothes for his off-time, but Baderon noted he always kept his bow with him. Not that he needed it. A drunken patron had once made the mistake of looking for a fight with the garish-clad Elezen, only to learn too late Lyrian had been training with Hamon Holyfist during his stay in Ul’Dah. The patron had been kicked overboard without so much as a warning, and no one had picked a fight with the bard since then.

Baderon was registering a new adventurer when Lyrian returned to the Drowning Wench, worry on his face.

“Trouble, lad?”

 “You can say that.” Lyrian winced. “Kobolds have attacked a caravan headed to Red Rooster Stead, believing it contained food. I lured them and gave them a beating, but Anaoc still asked me to tell you about the events so you could warn the Yellowjackets. He says kobolds so far south cannot be good.”

“Aye, it is. I’ll warn Captain Hansred as soon as I can. Thanks fer passin’ the word, lad. Ye can get cleaned up an’ ready fer tonight. Lotsa people again.”

“Most likely to hear me sing.” Lyrian smiled. “If they wanted good food, they’d go to the Bismarck.”

Baderon laughed.

“Lynsath sure ain’t got an entertainer like ya. Otherwise I reckon the Bismarck would be full every bloody evenin’, ha!”

Lyrian chuckled along and went to his room to clean. The place was a bit narrow and only had a bed, a wardrobe and a bucket. When the Duskwight wanted a bath, he usually did it in one of the nearby rivers. He returned to the main hall of the Drowning Wench, clothes fresh and bow-harp tuned.

That evening, once again, the cheerful music drove more than a patron to sing one of Limsa Lominsa’s many sea shanties. Baderon smiled. Several adventurers joined the chorus and some even rose and danced. It was lively, it was warm, it felt like home, it was animated with the laughs and whistle of appreciative customers, tales told of adventures bold across faraway lands, epic fights against men and monsters… The man sighed. This, here and now, was why he had become the innkeeper of the Drowning Wench.

His thoughts were interrupted by a burly Roegadyn drunkenly making passes at I’tolwann, one of the waitresses. Lyrian noticed it as well because he discretely moved his chair behind him, took an arrow and, still playing, fired it up the drunkard’s rear end. The man yelped.

“Alright, ya bloody buggers! Who did that!?”

Everyone laughed while Lyrian played innocently. The Roegadyn saw him, thought the garish minstrel would make a good dummy to pummel and rushed at him while roaring insults. Lyrian looked up at the last moment, a predatory smile on his face.

“Wrong target, sucker.”

Before the man could hit him, he rose from his seat, span and kicked the man’s ass into the chair. The Roegadyn rolled against the wall.

“Why, you son of a…”

Lyrian’s reaction was to give a waitress his bow, duck under a punch, grab the drunkard’s wrist and flip him away. Y’shtola watched the man rise, grumble and charge again. Lyrian sidestepped and tripped him, grinning as he fell on his face. The man rose again and the Duskwight decided to stop fooling around. He took a stance, waited until the Roegadyn was up and, the moment he did, rushed up to his face. The Roegadyn jumped in surprise. Before he could react, Lyrian unleashed a series of rapid-fire punches. _Bootshine_ , Y’shtola realized. He followed with a single, rock-solid punch that folded the drunkard and, rather than chaining _True Strike_ with _Snap Punch_ , the Duskwight spun on his feet to deliver a kick in the man’s face that sent him crashing hard against the wall.

The Miqo’te nodded. Bard, not minstrel. The last were merely wandering singers while the first were also trained fighters. Lyrian was no exception, and obviously knew more than archery to deal with his foes. The Duskwight took his bow and sat at a table. He was joined by a brown-haired Hyur in green and white.

“Nice moves ye got there.”

“Thanks.” Lyrian smiled.

The man leaned forward.

“Ye know, _Lyrian Sombréclipse_ , ye gained quite the rep ‘round these parts. Ye work as a singer most o’ times, an’ the folks like some singin’ with their drinkin’ and yer good at it. But ye also do handiwork, and a lotta people appreciate that. They say yer reliable, an’ that’s not somethin’ the culls around say lightly.”

Lyrian reclined in his seat. He may be young, but he wasn’t stupid. The Hyur before him wanted something from him. The Duskwight told him as much.

“What I want?” The brunette grinned. “I want ye in. Ye see, yer hard work an’ hard knock. Ye talk the talk an’ walk the walk. The Rogues Guild could use a lad with yer skills.”

“A job offer from the Upright Thieves.” Lyrian understood. “I heard about you. The faithful keepers of the Code, guardians of the shady underbelly of Limsa Lominsa. The reason the pirate town is less corrupt than the merchant city.”

The last part was said on a mocking tone. Jacke nodded appreciatively.

“Ye know ‘bout us.”

“When I plan to settle somewhere, I like to learn about the place.”

“Really? Good lad. Information’s also part o’ the trade. Somethin’ tells me ye’ll be just fine with us. If ye agree, o’ course.”

Lyrian took a moment to consider. His previous attempt at joining a city’s peacekeeping force had ended with two corpses and an exile. But the Rogues weren’t the Wood Wailers.

“I hope it won’t end as badly as my attempt at joining the Wood Wailers… Alright, I’m in.”

“Great!” Jacke smiled. “Meet at the Dutiful Sisters o’ the Edelweiss. I’ll be waitin’.”

Lyrian nodded. The evening went on with its cheers, and laughter. When the last patron was finally gone, he left and headed to the lower decks. The Edelweiss was near Fisherman’s Bottom. When he gave his name to the gatekeeper, the Roegadyn let him in. Jacke and a handful of rogues were inside, but only the Hyur, a dark-skinned Lalafell and a Miqo’te lady were actually waiting for them.

“Ye came.” Jacke noted.

“I agreed to join.”

“Indeed. Now, I know yer knowledgeable of our history and that’s good. I don’t like talkin’ ‘bout the past. Simple question, though: do ye know the Code?”

“…Not really.” Lyrian admitted. “I know the pirates are ruled by a specific code and the thieves – or Rogues as you call yourselves now – are in charge of enforcing it. But I don’t know what the rules themselves are, though with a name like Thieves, I guess stealing is involved…”

The Lalafell turned to his boss.

“Aye, sharp wits indeed. Alright, here they are: first, no bitin’ the purses o’ yer fellow Lominsans. Two, ye don’t rook a crew out of their spoils. Three, ye don’t trade culls like they were chattel. That’s the three rules o’ the Code. Any cur crazy enough to cross ‘em is punished as they deserve.”

“No stealing from Lominsans, no robbing people of their catch and no slavery, understood. Sorry for the rephrasing, my Cant isn’t on the same level as yours yet.”

Jacke laughed.

“Give yerself time. It’ll come. So, now ye agreed and know the Code, lemme give ye this.”

Lyrian took the pair of brass daggers. They looked weathered, but their edge was still sharp.

“My first bow looked worse than that.”

“Good. Them stabbers are a rogue’s best pals. Can’t call yerself one o’ us if ye can’t take a swipe with ‘em.”

The Duskwight nodded and held the daggers, shifting to reverse-grip. The blades were simply too short to be wielded like swords, and the reverse-grip felt more natural. He made some swings, wincing at his own clumsiness. Being used to fighting with his bare fists, the extension provided by the daggers was putting him off-balance. The Miqo’te noticed it.

“Not like that. A stabberrr’s not a weapon o’ strength, it’s a weapon o’ swiftness an’ dexterity. Ye need a soft an’ nimble wrrrist to use ‘em right.”

She guided him through the moves, silently impressed by how fast he was catching up to her. As it appeared, though the moves were different, knife-wielding and fist-fighting still shared similar footwork. All Lyrian needed to do was to attune top with bottom.

“Yer a singerrr, right? Think o’ our craft as a dance with blades in hands. Yer dancin’ on a tune, spinnin’ rrround like a whirlwind as ye cut mooks to ribbons…”

“A dance with blades in hands… I think I can do that.”

Indeed, the moment he understood the concept, the Duskwight’s moves became much more fluid. He was chaining combos like a pugilist, but with the grace of a dancer. Jacke nodded appreciatively.

“Good enough fer tonight. Get some rest, lad. Tomorrow, we’ll have these stabbers put to use. Somethin’ easy to start: the local wildlife outta make good targets.”

“Lyngsath asked me for more lamb.” Lyrian remembered. “And more oranges from Summerford. I know how I’ll spend my morning.”

“Aye, good idea. Well, tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow.”

The next morning, Lyrian took his linen clothes and headed out. His bard armor offered better protection, but it was also really flashy, not exactly the clothes you wanted to wear when practicing a discipline focused on stealth.

“I should buy a new outfit.” The Duskwight thought aloud. “Something in tissue or leather, preferentially black. Something to hide in the shadows or… How easy is it to go unnoticed by mingling with the crowd? Maybe my linen clothes will do fine for that, but I really need something dark.”

V’kebbe watched from afar as the new rogue cut down a handful of lambs and did the same with pugils, using the daggers to slice their meat.

“Yerrr doin’ fine.”

Lyrian turned to the cat-girl and grinned.

“Thanks. But I’m just starting.”

V’kebbe nodded and handed him a small device.

“A linkpearrrl, so Jacke can contact ye easier. Ye got work to do asides from Rogue business, so yerrr not as often as us at the headquarters.”

“Got it. So, next stop is Summerford. Staelwyrn wants me to deliver a new harvest of oranges.”

V’kebbe licked her lips.

“Noscean orrranges are the best.”

“Tell me about it!”

When the pair reached the farm, Staelwyrn was waiting for them with a worried look.

“Trouble, Big Boss?” Lyrian asked.

“You can say that, kid. People have noticed weird azure-tattooed folks lurking around, and with the recent kidnappings, they’re getting real scared their turn has come.”

V’kebbe hissed.

“We’ve been after the culprrrits for awhile, now. These currrs are like bleedin’ ghosts. It’s been almost a month and we ain’t got a single clue…”

“Well Miss, I may have one. My folks have noticed suspicious characters around Seasong Grotto. I was gonna ask Lyrian to look around since he’s a fighter, but I see he doesn’t have his bow today.”

“It’s a bit hard to pull spins and cartwheels with a bow on your back.” Lyrian explained. “I left Gandiva at the Drowning Wench. Today, I’m working with daggers.”

Staelwyrn’s eyes lit up.

“You joined the Rogues?”

“They offered me a spot. I took it.”

“He’s a newb so I watch overrr him.” V’kebbe explained. “So, Seasong Grotto? Let’s take a look.”

The cave was due west of the farm. There was nothing in it but the stele honoring the sea.

_I am the waves that bear, I am the wind that guides. I am the evening star, I am the morning sky. I am born of the sea, and there I shall die._

They were joined by another Miqo’te, a white-haired conjurer wearing a strange device over her head. V’kebbe raised a brow.

“Y’shtola? What arrre ye doin’ there.”

“I am investigating a strange fluctuation in the aetheric flow.” The conjurer answered as she removed the device. “It led me there. But for what reason, though…”

A roar came from the grotto’s entrance.

A familiar roar.

Lyrian’s blood froze in his veins.

“Goobbue. And just the day I left my bow at the Drowning Wench.” He turned to V’kebbe. “Sorry, but I’m not sure these toys will do much against that big brute.”

V’kebbe drew her own daggers. They were of considerably better quality than his. Y’shtola drew her wand, ready to fight. Lyrian frowned.

“I couldn’t do it in the Twelveswood because the Elementals threatened me with Woodsin whenever I tried, but Thanalan and Vylbrand are a different story… I just hope I won’t drop the grotto on our heads, that would be sad.”

On this, he knelt and put his hands on the ground.

“ _Bones of the Earth, lend me your might…_ ”

Yellow light spread from his fingers and seeped into the earth. Soon, the Duskwight’s body was covered by a thin armor of earthly aether. Y’shtola turned to him.

“Stoneskin? He is a conjurer?”

Lyrian didn’t stop there.

“Earth is a stubborn element. It stands firm and unyielding. If you want to harness it, you have to beat it to its own game.”

The streams of aether spread around, connecting the Duskwight to the land.

“To control the earth, you have to think like it. Make your will an unshakable force, resolute and headstrong. You bow to no one and yield to none. Slow but unstoppable, this is how you have to think if you want to be master of the land. Only then, when your will proves the strongest, shall the earth be yours to command, and you will unleash its fury under the very feet of your enemies.”

To prove his point, he stood and raised his fist in an uppercut. From the ground rose a stony fist that smacked the goobbue against the ceiling, shattering in the process. Lyrian didn’t stop there. He held both hands, raised the debris of the fist and sent them crashing against the monster. The goobbue was sent stumbling back under Y’shtola and V’kebbe’s bewildered looks. Y’shtola shook her head.

“I take it back. This isn’t conjuration. This is an altogether different kind of magic.”

Lyrian grunted. The two Miqo’te could tell the magic was taking its toll on his body. He spread his hands, clenched them, then brought them together as earth spikes impaled the goobbue, killing it on the spot. Only when it didn’t move did the Duskwight fall on his knees, his breath short.

“Been eons… since I practiced… Couldn’t do it a lot… Oww, I see stars!”

“No wonder.” Y’shtola whistled. “It looked like you were commanding the ground itself.”

“That’s what I do, kinda.” Lyrian breathed. “My magic isn’t like thaumaturgy, conjuration or arcanima. I’ve yet to see someone use it like I do. Basically, I send my aether in my surroundings, seize control of it and bring it down on my foes. But it’s taxing, so I only use it as last resort.”

V’kebbe snorted.

“Ye know we could’ve taken that bugger without yer help…”

“Sue me, I’m too gallant to let ladies do the dirty job when I got the power to do it.”

Y’shtola hummed and handed him an ether before checking the goobbue. Lyrian drank the liquid sip by sip before something caught his attention. It was a navy blue crystal the size of his hand, chock full of aether unlike anything he had felt before. When he knelt to take it, the crystal levitated in his hand…

…and he found himself in a sea of stars, the same as in his dream aboard the ship. A hexagram appeared around him, caught in a ring and circled by a second, bigger one. Intricate patterns that reminded him of arcanima decorated the figure, whose six points ended with what he understood were _slots_ as the blue crystal appeared in the bottom one. Lyrian himself was standing in the middle of a ring at the center of the figure.

The crystal emitted a sphere of light that struck a brighter light above. The light shone over him and the Duskwight felt himself somehow grow _stronger_.

It was odd. But no odder than the light blinding him and voice echoing around him.

 _Kinship… Others of thy blood have received mine blessing_.

Lyrian looked around.

“My blood? What do you mean?”

_Hear… Feel… Think_

Crystals appeared around him. They seemed the regular kind, but it was only on the outside. Lyrian looked before him and gasped at the sight of the gigantic crystal that stood before him. The smaller stones were floating around, and a gentle light seemed to bathe the area.

 _Crystal Bearer_ … The crystal said. _I am Hydaelyn. All made one_. _I feel kinship in thee_. _Before thee, others of thine family bore mine blessing, and carried mine light as darkness rose forth._

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lyrian shook his head. “I don’t remember my family.”

 _Thou needn’st_. Hydaelyn reassured. _Know only that thou hast been chosen to carry mine light as darkness riseth again. In the_ _Crystals_ _of Light dwelleth mine power. Thou hast obtained one already. Find them. Thy deed and actions shall reveal those crystals._

“Good luck.” Lyrian looked down. “I’m just a bard in exile, not a hero. Besides, you say others have borne it before me, but what good will it do me if I can’t remember?”

The light shone, gentle, reassuring.

_There is more to thee than thy canst begin to believe. Thou may have forgotten thine past, but others have not. They lay in waiting as thy memories return slowly, drop after drop. Thy amnesia ist only temporary. And fear not about lacking role models. Each of mine chosen drew their own path, and so shall thee. Thou needn’t concern thyself about the feats of thy forebears, only thine own. Fear not, Lyrian Sombréclipse. Thine journey hath scarce begun._

The light blinded him…

…and he awoke on the cold stone floor of Seasong Grotto. V’kebbe was looking at him.

“Are ye alright, lad? Ye scared me blue for a moment.”

“I don’t know if I had a hallucination or a woken dream” Lyrian answered, feeling groggy.

“A hallucination? About what?”

“A gigantic crystal calling herself Hydaelyn…”

Y’shtola turned to the pair and looked at Lyrian.

“Hydaelyn? You saw the Mothercrystal?”

Lyrian looked away, uneasy. He was feeling sore.

“I think…”

The two Miqo’te listened as the Duskwight recalled the vision. When he opened his hand and focused, the dark blue crystal appeared. Y’shtola nodded strongly.

“It was indeed a vision. No doubt about it: everything you saw was real. This in your hand is indeed a Crystal of Light, the first of six if the hexagram is to be believed. Interesting…”

Lyrian sighed and looked away.

“All I want is to sing songs at the Drowning Wench and defend Limsa Lominsa. I traveled with Master Jehantel when I was younger, but now, all I want is to settle down.”

“Tough luck with that now Hydaelyn picked you as her champion.”

“She could’ve picked someone else. Someone who isn’t _persona non grata_ in one of the three city-states, for starters.”

Y’shtola raised an ear. Lyrian shrugged.

“Long story. I’m banned from going anywhere near the Twelveswood. And, frankly speaking, I don’t want to go either. Bastards.”

There indeed seemed like there was a story going on there, but the conjurer didn’t ask further. Instead, she took an item she had found stuck in the nap of the goobbue’s neck. V’kebbe’s eyes widened.

“That’s a sailorrr’s knife! The culls use ‘em to work rrrope.”

Y’shtola nodded.

“It seems the three of us fell straight into a trap. Fortunately, our friend had a trick up his sleeve. This is strange, though… I hail from Sharlayan and yet, I have never heard of a magick that manipulates the land itself. Conjurers drain the power of the land to fuel their spells, thaumaturges use the aether within their body, arcanists channel it through geometric patterns and astrologian spells are powered by the stars. But this… To meld your aether to that of the land and use the bond to take control of it is something I’ve never seen before. Something that would require a huge amount of natural aether.”

“I’m afraid I can’t be of help.” Lyrian shrugged. “I lost my memories during the Calamity.”

“That’s what the culls say.” V’kebbe nodded.

Y’shtola hummed. Amnesiac, master of the bow and rogue in-training, possessing an unknown kind of magic and blessed by Hydaelyn, as well as an outcast to Gridania for some reason. She promised herself to tell Minfilia and the Scions about him.

“Let’s get back to Summerford and warn Staelwyrn.” Lyrian offered. “Someone tried to kill us and it’s probably pirates. He’ll need to know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens as Lyrian reveals a very unusual ability...
> 
> As for the Rogues' involvment, they are Limsa's secret forces. Dealing with issues like the kidnappings that make Limsa's storyline is part of their job, but due to being implemented after ARR's storyline, they couldn't appear. I remedied it by having Lyrian not just work for them but also being an integral part of the story.


	3. Shadows over La Noscea

Staelwyrn was naturally surprised to hear about the attack. He and his men were former pirates, some of whom still has trouble getting used to farming. He promised V’kebbe to keep an eye on them and call the Rogues if he noticed something suspicious. That Lyrian was part of the Guild helped. His work as a handyman and singer allowed him to keep an ear open for rumors without seeming suspicious. Between Staelwyrn, the Duskwight and the Rogues, the kidnappers would be caught sooner or later.

Lyrian finished his deliveries and went to rest. Even though he had quite the stamina, using his land-bending magic had taken its toll on him. He still helped Perimu recover a Garlean device stolen by a trio of pirates and had a good laugh when said pirates came knocking to the Edelweiss thinking it was a coven… and swiftly got their asses handed to them when Perimu, V’kebbe and Jacke showed them the errors of their way with their knives.

Just this morning, Lyrian allowed himself to lie in later than usual. When he went looking for his knives, he found instead of the weathered blades a pair of sharp steel daggers and a message from Jacke.

_V’kebbe told me what happened in Seasong Grotto. If yer truly the Mother’s Champ’, ya’ll need sharper stabbers than those worn-out girls._

_Good luck,_

_Jacke_

Lyrian smiled and strapped the daggers to his thighs. He had just gotten out of his room when he saw Perimu Haurimu come to him.

“Lyrian, trouble at Summerford! Sevrin sold some o’ his friends to the kidnappers!”

Lyrian cringed.

“Of course, it was Sevrin. That guy’s been nothing but trouble since I came to Summerford. Any idea where they went?”

“Aye: Woad Whisper Canyon.”

“Then let’s go. And, this time, I won’t forget Gandiva.”

Perimu nodded. The pair hurried to the huge cliff that was sundering the landscape of Middle La Noscea and headed north-east, to the canyon. As they reached it, they were surprised to see Sevrin’s friends, on their knees and catching their breath.

“Sevrin turned on them at the last moment.” The little Lalafell explained. “When the blue-faced bastard went to take us, he sucker-punched him and told us to run. They were three, all armed to the teeth. I don’t think he’ll last long…”

Lyrian and Perimu didn’t hesitate. They ran to the end of the canyon to watch the former pirate, lying on the ground and covered with bruises as the burly man above him taunted him. Perimu gasped as he saw the facial markings.

“Fishback’s bollocks, these curs are Serpent Reavers!”

Lyrian looked at him.

“Is it bad?”

“Bad!? Serpent Reavers are in league with the Sahagin! Sell ‘em culls to be mind-twisted by their lord Leviathan.”

Lyrian’s eyes widened.

“Primal worshippers, then. Got it.”

On this, he took his bow. The burly man looked at them.

“What? The Rogues are there? No matter… Their lives will do just fine!”

“Don’t mind if I intend to keep mine!” Lyrian retorted.

He aimed his bow, only for stone to animate behind the group. The Duskwight’s eyes widened as a golem took form behind the Reavers. The Reavers noticed it as well and lost no time running away, though not before giving a dangerous smile to the pair beforehand. Perimu starred at the golem.

“O-kay… Well, guess we still gotta fight that fiend. Still, pirates summonin’ a golem, o' all things!”

“Just be glad it isn’t a Voidsent.” Lyrian retorted. “Besides, I don’t think it was their doing. Otherwise, they would’ve stuck around to fight.” The golem loomed over them threateningly. “Can’t say that thing’s summoner is a friend either. It really looks like it wants to kill us.”

“No, really? What makes ye think that?” Perimu asked sarcastically.

The golem threw a fist that would have nailed them down if they hadn’t jumped away.

“ _That_.” Lyrian answered deadpan.

They knew they weren’t resilient enough to endure a blow of the monster. They relied on their speed and agility instead, dodging and parrying its fists. Perimu swung at its legs repeatedly with limited success. Lyrian aimed his arrows at its heart instead. One of them struck the gem, causing the golem to rear. Perimu was caught off-guard by a backhand that sent him flying against the wall and knocked him out. Lyrian gasped.

“Perimu!”

There were faint red marks on the wall. The Duskwight snarled.

“Bastard…”

He felt aether thrumming through him. His magic often reacted to his emotional state, surging when he felt strong emotions. Cocobuki believed it was due to a lack of control, but growing in the Twelveswood also meant he couldn’t train his power. This made his magic strong, but not exactly subtle. Good. Bending the land worked better on a large scale.

He reached around him, wrapping any thread of aether he could grasp over his arrow. Perimu groaned and opened an eye to see Lyrian focus any magic he could gather into a swirl of aether around his arrow. The golem stood tall over the Elezen, dangerously close… but it worked to Lyrian’s advantage: aiming was much easier. He released the string and the drilling attack struck straight in the stone that served as the golem’s heart. The monster roared as the attack tore not just its body but the magic animating it apart. It collapsed in an inert pile of rock while Lyrian bent to catch his breath.

Perimu rose, drank a potion and went to his side.

“Ye alright, lad?”

“Just a bit winded. It always happens after I use my magic…”

Then Y’shtola came and the Elezen was caught by a violent headache.

He _saw_.

In brownish-sepia tones, he witnessed.

_Y’shtola in Limsa Lominsa, spying over a small gathering of pirates, pondering about their allegiance –_

***static***

_Looking at the sea and the sky, the tides rising as the satellite Dalamud drew closer and grew redder –_

***static***

_Sitting in the harbor, wondering at the marvels of Sharlayan technology before a little girl offered her a flower and she noticed a disturbance in the aether around Seasong Grotto –_

Lyrian panted.

“What was that!?”

“What was what?” Perimu asked.

“I…” The Elezen hesitated. “I think I had a vision.”

The Lalafell raised a brow.

“A vision? Yer seeing things now or are ye simply tired?”

“Dunno. I’m inclined to say it’s the former.”

Perimu rolled his eyes.

“Yer a weirdo, ye know?”

“Nothing new here.”

They turned to Y’shtola, who had healed Sevrin and was helping him stand. Lyrian frowned.

“I saw her. And I also saw Dalamud as it was falling. Make that of what you will.”

Perimu shrugged. He honestly had no idea what to say or do. The worst the Rogues had to deal with were pirates. Against supernatural things such as someone blessed by the Mothercrystal and possessing weird magic, they were out of their depths. Fortunately, Lyrian was on their side, so keeping an eye on him was easy. Y’shtola came to them.

“Sevrin told me his side of the story. It shed a considerable amount of light on the kidnappings that I think you’ll find interesting. It also explained why you found yourselves facing a golem.”

Lyrian shrugged.

“Golems are mindless constructs moved by the will and magic of their creator. The easiest way to take them down is to strike their heart, as they don’t fear losing a few limbs since they aren’t alive. That’s what I did.”

“Ye faced these things before?” Perimu asked.

“Yes. There’s a place in Central Shroud that’s teeming with these guys and spriggans. I went hunting there once in awhile.”

Miqo’te and Lalafell nodded.

“By the way…” Perimu spoke. “Lyrian had a vision ‘bout you, Y’shtola. The lad saw you lookin’ at Dalamud. I hope he’s not goin’ bonkers…”

It took the conjurer a moment to recall Louisoix’s teachings. She smiled and shook his head.

“Lyrian isn’t insane. It is merely a manifestation of the Mothercrystal’s blessing: the ability to peer into the memories of others. According to my former master, the visions are random about the persons and what is revealed.”

Lyrian nodded, feeling reassured. They took Sevrin back to Summerford where the man explained how the whole affair had started.

Sevrin was originally a member of the Serpent Reavers, back then a low ranking mook. When his captain swore himself to the Sahagins, the pirate hadn’t hesitated a moment before turning tails and fleeing his old crew, who had marked him for death. Hiding in Summerford hadn’t been enough. He had been found and, rather than executed, he had been tasked with providing with souls to offer to Leviathan. Sevrin had nearly gone through with it. Nearly. In the end, the man remained a true Code-abiding pirate and had gone against the Reavers – with mitigated success.

He still insisted on giving himself up to the Yellowjackets, but both Staelwyrn and Perimu confirmed he wouldn’t stay for long.

“In the end, he remained a true pirate. Ain’t somethin’ the Rogues’ gonna forget. We’ll make sure he be forgiven. He was willin’ to turn on his own crew ‘cause they became Reavers.”

Lyrian nodded.

“At the same time, we now know who’s behind the kidnappings…”

“Yes, and it’s gonna ease our work a great deal. Be on yer guard, though. Serpent Reavers are dangerous, an’ nasty enough that the Rogues got ‘em all branded for death. Ye meet ‘em: show no mercy. Those curs are the scum of the sea.”

“Noted. If I see one, he’ll be lucky to know what hit him…”

Perimu grinned as Lyrian checked his bow. The man was only a novice rogue but, on the flipside, he was a skilled archer. The fight against the golem had demonstrated it. They reported to Jacke, who wasn’t remotely happy about the news.

“Those Reaver curs were behind it! The Navigator takes me, that’s ugly. _Bene_ , I’ll put everyone on the lookout. Send a couple lads in every settlement around: Summerford, Aleport, Moraby Drydocks…”

“Let’s not forrrget the smaller ones.” V’kebbe called. “Red Rooster Stand, Swiftperrrch, Skylift… They are even morrre likely to be targeted than the big ones.”

“Noted. Let’s see… I’ll send Perimu to Summerford, ye to Aleport, no one at Costa Del Sol since Gegeruju got his own guards, Nora at Skylift…”

“We’re back!”

The group turned to see a couple enter. One was a scaled woman with a pair of white flat crown-like horns and amber eyes, while the man was a pale-skinned Hyur with messy black hair and viridian eyes. Jacke greeted them.

“Yui, Kiyoko, yer on time lads.”

The Hyur looked at the map unfolded on the table.

“You got something big planned, Boss?”

“Yep. The Serpent Reavers are the ones treatin’ culls like chattel. I’m sendin’ a lad to ev’ry settlement to watch over it. Someone sees a cull with blue markin’s, he opens the eye. Blue marks are usually a sign o’ the Reavers.”

The girl nodded.

“Slave traders, huh? You can count on us.”

Jacke looked at the pair.

“Yui, ye’ll take Swiftperch. Kiyoko, ye’ll go to Red Rooster Stand, lass.” He turned to Lyrian. “As for ya Champ’, ye’ll go to Moraby Drydocks.”

“Got it.”

As he left, the Duskwight wouldn’t help but give the horned lady an once-over. Kiyoko noticed it. In fact, she was equally eying him.

“Never seen someone like me before?”

“No. I guess this makes two of us if your face if anything to come by.”

The woman nodded.

“I am an Au Ra, a race of scaled humanoids originating from Othard. White-scaled Auri like me are called Raen. What about you?”

Lyrian smiled.

“I am a Duskwight, one of the subspecies of Elezen in Eorzea. The other is Wildwood but…” A chuckle escaped his lips. “I heard people call Ishgardian Elezen Hailskins as an insult. Kinda fitting if you ask me.”

“A Duskwight Elezen… You skin has the color of cold ashes.”

“And yours almost looks like peach.”

Yui turned to the pair and crossed his arms.

“Thanks for the compliment, but this gorgeous lady is already taken. Kiyoko and I are married.”

Lyrian raised his hands defensively.

“Far from me the idea to woo your wife. It’s just, I’ve never seen people like her before and I got curious. You’re lucky, though. She _is_ pretty.”

Yui’s face darkened.

“Luckily unlucky may be more accurate. There’s a reason we fled Doma…”

He didn’t dwell and Lyrian didn’t ask further. He could tell the pain in his voice. Once outside the headquarters, each rogue teleported to his destination. Lyrian had gone to the Drydocks several times for errands. It was there that the Lominsan navy was building its ships. Their current project was the very first warship built since the Calamity, the Victory. However, good handiwork was hard to come by so someone like the Duskwight was always welcome.

Lyrian cursed his soft heart. Seeing the foreman pester had been the reason he had signed in the Armorer and Blacksmith guilds. His metalworking talents were meager for the time being and, frankly, he didn’t want to make it his trade, but knowing how to make an ingot and bend bronze and iron was always useful. At worst, more skilled artisans just had to refine the products he gave them and the job was over.

As it was, Ahtbyrm didn’t need his talents as a craftsman but as a messenger. One of the shipwrights had gone missing and the foreman hadn’t had any new in two days. Checking his bow and daggers, Lyrian headed to Candlekeep Quay to find why. He had a name: Haldbroda. Haldbroda, however, had nothing to tell him. The people of Candlekeep Quay were busy with a sunken cargo ship whose load had washed ashore the Salt Strand thanks to a storm. Lyrian naturally offered to retrieve it. Qiqirn had set a camp by the Strand, but the Duskwight had hunted bigger rodents. He didn’t want to fight but, if the ratmen tried to mug him, they would leave with holes in their pockets… and other painful parts of their body.

It was pure coincidence that he met the missing shipwright, Fyrilsmyd, as the man was watching the Strand warily. As he explained, his absence was due to his conscientiousness not letting him return to the dry docks without the cargo he had been tasked with delivering. Problem was: said cargo was scattered all over the Strand and he was afraid the Qiqirn may attack him. He was an artisan, not a fighter.

“No problem, I’ll do it for you. If those ratfolks try to mug me…” The Duskwight patted his daggers. “Their loss.”

“Daggers… You a rogue?”

“Yep, in-training.”

On this, he went to the Strand. There was a helm wheel, a crate of rigging and a crate containing a sailcloth to recover. Finding them was easy. However, as he put the helm wheel atop the other two crates, he found himself face to face with a Qiqirn.

“Ashface gives all his sparklies now!”

Lyrian quietly took one of his daggers and pushed the ratman’s muzzle with the tip.

“No thanks.”

The Qiqirn backed away, pale. Lyrian took the crates and the wheel and walked away. He hadn’t made three steps before a good dozen Qiqirn with sharp claws surrounded him. All of them were glaring daggers.

“Uh…”

The Duskwight put his load away and smiled sheepishly. Obviously, the beastmen hadn’t taken nicely to their kindred being pushed away with a knife. The Qiqirn closed in on him and Lyrian sighed. This was going to leave him sore…

Moensath had come late to the meeting and had found herself assigned to Candlekeep Quay. The Roegadyn rogue sighed. She shouldn’t have spent so long at the Bismarck, but Chef Lyngsath was her father and she often lost track of time at his side. It didn’t help that the man was simply amazing at his craft. A real wizard! She had brought a Bismarck Finger Sandwich for V’kebbe as an apology – which had been accepted – and headed to the Quay with the notification Lyrian was at the Drydocks. This had pleased the rogue. The Duskwight was a beginner, but he was making swift progress.

Once at the Quay, she was informed of the shipwreck and decided to help. Haldbroda shook his head.

“’Nother rogue dropped by awhile ago with the same goal. A Duskwight. Still ain’t back. I hope he didn’t meet any trouble…”

Moensath raised a brow. So, Lyrian had stopped by the Quay while she was away. She headed to the Salt Strand to help him… and caught him in a furious fight with a large group of Qiqirn. The Roegadyn nodded. When it came to footwork, his technique was flawless. His swipes were still clumsy, however, but the Qiqirn didn’t give him much room for fanciness. His swipes and stabs were simple and direct, aimed to maim and injure without killing, though a few Qiqirn were still lying dead in their blood. The rogue took her own knives and jumped in the melee, spinning and slashing like a woman possessed. The pair finally dispatched the ratmen and Lyrian fell on his knees, out of breath.

“Bloody rodents…”

“Tell me ‘bout it!” Moensath knelt at his side and looked at his wounds. “Them ratfaces are as greedy as those lil’ pupil-less childmen o’ Ul’Dah. Cutthroat, cut-purses an’ without an onz o’ honor, these ones.”

“No arguing with that. They worship Nald’Thal, but the truth is that gold is their one true god. When people say some Uldans would sell mother and father for money, they aren’t always joking…”

Moensath nodded. Lyrian’s foppish armor, the blue, red and white clothes he usually wore when singing or performing serious tasks, was surprisingly resilient for something so fancy. Most cuts hadn’t dug too deep and many of the wounds were on his face and around his hands. She put some ointment on them and took the crates containing the rope and sailcloth. In their anger against Lyrian, the Qiqirn had focused solely on him and neglected the materials.

“So, what got ye in that mess?”

“One of the shipwrights had gone missing and Chief Foreman Ahtbyrm wanted me to find him. Turns out Fyrilsmyd was trying to retrieve what we’re carrying but, since he wasn’t a fighter…”

Moensath nodded. She took the two crates while Lyrian took the helm wheel and returned the items to the shipwright. Next step was telling Ahtbyrm about the incident. The Roegadyn frowned deeply.

“A storm, huh? I doubt it was natural, then. You see, the tides at the Drydocks were quiet the night of the wreck. A storm localized on a specific area sounds a lot like what the Sahagin can do.”

“You think they may be behind the wreckage?” Lyrian asked. “What I know from them, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Me neither. Ghimthota believes pirates may be after the Victory…”

“It is a known fact the Serpent Reavers are allied with the Sahagin. Using the Sahagins’ magic to cause a storm, then sending the Reavers against the Victory while everyone’s busy with the wreck. Sounds like a plan, but then again, I may overestimate them.”

Ahtbyrm’s eyes widened.

“The Reavers! That’s why the rogues have sent you there, I get.”

Lyrian lowered his voice.

“Jacke sent men in each settlement save Costa del Sol. I’m the one in charge of the Drydocks. There’s someone at Candlekeep Quay. But yes, the Reavers are getting more active. We believe them to be behind the recent string of kidnappings. In fact, we’re quasi-certain it’s them. They tried to take some of the men at Summerford Farm.”

Ahtbyrm nodded.

“Ghimthota won’t be happy. This isn’t any pirate crew. This is the _Reavers_ , those tide-forsaken traitors. Go ahead, rogue. If you need anything to do your job, just say the word.”

“Got it.”

As the foreman had guessed, Ghimthota wasn’t pleased with the news.

“Reavers, of all people!? Llymlaen, that’s bad. I’ll pull everyone on the lookout. If the rogues are going so far as planting men in each settlement, then it means they expect the worst.”

“I don’t know about that, but Jacke was definitely worried. At the same time, did it happen before that you met pirates powerful enough to summon golems?”

“What?”

Lyrian crossed his arms and explained.

“When I fought the Reavers in Woad Whisper Canyon, someone summoned a golem. Have you ever met such a situation before?”

“No.” Ghimthota said, pale. “This is bad. If they have someone who can do that, this is **_bad_**.” She put a finger to her ear and spoke. “Caporal, raise the alert to red. Put every man available on the lookout and tell them to be _careful_. The Reavers are on the move and they have someone who can summon a golem… Yes, you heard that right. Now, go warn everyone and tell them to open the eye – the **right** one.”

Lyrian nodded. Ghimtotha looked at him.

“Some of my men reported a group of pirates camping around Spinner’s End, or Nymeia’s Stone as you would call it. Can I ask you to check it?”

“Of course, Captain.”

Nymeia’s Stone was located a little away from the Drydocks, close to the cliff. Lyrian knelt and walked as quietly as he could as he closed in on the pirates. There was an old Roegadyn and two Hyurs, drinking merrily around a campfire. Lyrian hid and thanked his Duskwight ears. His kind had a better hearing than even Moonkeepers.

“And t’night, t’night…”

“Aye! Tonight, we blow the Victory sky hiiiiiiigh!”

Lyrian prayed Oschon they were joking. The god didn’t answer.

“T’night, we sneak into the docks, plant the explosive and bam! That cur Merlwyb’s pretty boat’ll go down in blazes! Gotta make th’ biggest firework ever! And… and… we’ll get me boy back while we’re at it. Bloody brat, that one! Can’t believe… he made that ship…”

‘ _And they are targeting someone among the workers as well. Jacke would have a field day sticking his knives up his rear end._ ’

He was about to leave when he found himself face to face with a female Roegadyn holding three bottles of rum. The two starred at each other… Lyrian reacted first. He jumped, put a hand on the woman’s mouth and thrust his dagger in her throat. He felt blood against his hand as the woman gasped for breath and held until she wasn’t moving anymore.

“Could’ve been cleaner.” The Duskwight muttered before dragging the body to the docks.

C’nangho, the gatekeeper, watched him return.

“Look what the shadow drrragged. You could use a new set of clothes, Lyrian.”

“And she could use a new throat.” Lyrian retorted as he brought the corpse. “She walked on me as I was eavesdropping on her crewmates. I acted on reflex and killed her. Mind checking if there’s anything interesting on her?”

“There is. Her axe. The rrred wind-like pattern on it, it’s the signature of Ahtzapfyn the Absorbed, captain of the Sea Knaves. So, the guys partying by Spinnerrr’s End were members of Ahtzapfyn’s crew…”

“I think I saw Ahtzapfyn himself. Big, burly, with an axe spotting the same red wind-like pattern on the blade and white hair?”

“That would be him.”

“Then I got really bad news for you… They are going to blow the Victory and take one of the workers along. Apparently, Ahtzapfyn’s son works on the ship.”

C’nangho stood very still.

“The Navigatorrr helps us! They wouldn’t dare!”

“They would, and it happens tonight. I’m calling Jacke.”

“I’ll warrrn Captain Ghimtotha. The Twelve, this is ugly…”

Lyrian nodded and looked at the sky. Tonight would be a sleepless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's be honest: the Rogues' Guilt is basically Limsa Lominsa's MI6. When there's a problem that needs to be kept secret, they deal with it swiftly and efficiently. Also, people like the Serpent Reavers would be their sworn enemies, hence the drastic measures.
> 
> When the slave-making Primal worshippers get involved, it's time to get serious.


	4. A restless night

Jacke listened to Lyrian’s linkshell report. What he heard made him want to go to the Drydocks himself. As it was, he couldn’t afford it. His presence was required at the headquarters to coordinate the rogues. What he could do, however, was sending backup.

“Got it. Those bloody curs are after the Victory. We gotta stop ‘em, and fast. Ye got the time o’ the attack and ye warned the Maelstrom, though, so we’re not unprepared. I’m sendin’ Moensath and Kiyoko to the docks as backup. The Victory’s too important that we can let ‘em have their way. Candlekeep Quay and Red Rooster Stand’ll have to do without us.”

“Got it, boss. The night has fallen. The attack can happen any moment.”

“The girls’ll just rez at the docks. Godspeed, lad. Ye’ll need it.”

“Thanks.”

And so, the waiting game began at the Drydocks. In his hiding spot, Ahtzapfyn was fuming.

“Who’s the cur who sold us!? There weren’t so many guards last time we checked! Gonna be hard to sneak in now.”

They found a way, eventually: the dry docks. Swimming until they were in, hiding in the shadows of the ship, silent as ghosts… but not enough to escape the elfin ear of a certain Duskwight. Kiyoko was using the darkness to show Lyrian how to hide in the shadows when his ear caught a wet footstep. The Elezen raised a hand.

“Shush!”

The pair stood still, listening to the sneaky pirates. Kiyoko took her dagger and, more silent than her preys, snuck behind them. One was carrying a staff, an obvious sign he was a mage. The Au Ra’s weapon caught him between the shoulders. He collapsed without a sound. Another got an arrow in the skull courtesy of Lyrian, who put a hand to his ear.

“Moensath, the dry dock!”

The Roegadyn was hiding not far from Ghimthota. She was quick to inform the captain.

“The dry docks!?”

“Aye. Lyrian an’ Kiyoko are already on ‘em.”

“Then to arms! The pirates are at the Victory already!”

The Duskwight and the Au Ra had killed five of Ahtzapfyn’s men each when the pirate noticed something was wrong.

“Thal’s balls, what’s going on?”

His answer was an arrow that killed his right-hand man. Lyrian emerged from the shadows, a huge grin on his face, and answered in a sing-song voice.

“ _Busted~_ ”

Only then did Ahtzapfyn realize he had walked right into an ambush. His men found the Victory’s doors locked and the deck crowded with Maelstrom men placed there in advance by Ghimthota. Around him, standing atop the dry dock, Ghimthota, Ahtbyrm, Moensath and the rest of the Maelstrom were looking down on him.

“How!?” The pirate raged.

“That’s simple.” Ghimthota answered. “The rogues are masters of stealth. They don’t simply use it to kill people and steal goods unnoticed. Gathering information is also part of the job, and their new recruit is quite good at it.”

She looked at Lyrian and smiled. Lyrian nodded back. Ahtbyrm crossed his arms.

“I can’t believe you would do something like that, Da! Blowing the Victory, do you have any idea what this represents to the people of Limsa Lominsa? Do you have any idea what you were trying to destroy!?”

“Seven hells I do, boy!” Ahtzapfyn angrily retorted.

“Then why?”

“To knock some sense into yer head, ya brat! Ye, a son o’ _pirates_ , buildin’ a ship fer those thrice-cursed Maelstrom curs! What in the Navigator’s name got into yer head!?”

Ahtbyrm snarled.

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand! The golden age of piracy is gone. Merlwyb, the Maelstrom, these people are the future of Limsa Lominsa, and this is what the Victory represents. Now, Da, surrender before they force you to!”

“I’d rather sleep with the fishes!”

“That can be arranged.” Moensath smirked.

Ahtzapfyn and his men didn’t stand a single chance. Outnumbered and overpowered, the pirates could only watch as Ghimthota raised a hand. The next moment, Lyrian and the Maelstrom were raining death through arrows and spells while Moensath was throwing knives and Kiyoko made hand gestures that ended in throwing stars hitting the men. Soon, none were breathing. Ghimthota looked at the rogues.

“Good to see the Upright Thieves still got it. Without your skills, the Victory was toast, if you forgive me the expression.”

“And Lyrian is a beginner.” Kiyoko grinned. “I’ve hardly seen someone show so much promise without any previous training.”

She turned to the Duskwight and froze. Lyrian was leaning against a building and holding his head. Whimpers of pain escaped his lips.

“Hey, are you alright?” The Au Ra asked.

Lyrian turned to her, eyes half-open.

“Those hand gestures you made… What are they?”

“Mudras. They are hand seals that allow me to use different _Ninjutsu_ techniques depending the number and order of the seals. Why do you ask?”

Ghimthota frowned.

“This is no rogue technique.”

“Indeed. My husband and I aren’t rogues, we are ninja. It came as a surprise that Limsa’s rogues fought the same we did. The only difference is that they don’t use Ninjutsu, but that’s about it.”

Lyrian nodded and blinked repeatedly.

“I… I think I knew someone who was a ninja. She was old… and she trained me. At least, that’s what I remember. She was a Dushwight with white hair, and her skin was almost alabaster. She taught me to be agile and use knives, and I remember her using hand seals to trap me in quicksand. She had me try to get out…”

Kiyoko’s eyes widened.

“ _Doton_! That person _was_ a ninja!”

Lyrian hesitated.

“I think… I think she was my grandmother. I’m not sure, though. It’s just a guess.”

Moensath sighed when she saw the Au Ra’s puzzled face.

“O’ course. Kiyoko, ye dunno it ‘cause you’re hardly at HQ, but everyone ‘mong the rogues knows Lyrian’s amnesiac. Somethin’… happened durin’ the Calamity, he can’t remember what, that caused his memories to go poof. Now, he tries to piece whatever bit he can get back. Seein’ ye use yer ninja stuff brought some back.”

Kiyoko tilted her head.

“I never heard of Duskwights being ninja when I was in Doma. And yet, according to his memories, his grandmother was a ninja and taught him. At least, it explains why he’s a natural with knives without apparently receiving previous training: he _did_ , but his mind doesn’t remember it.”

Moensath nodded thoughtfully.

“Hey Lyrian, how old are ye already?”

“Nineteen. My birthday was three months ago.”

“It means ye were fourteen durin’ the Calamity. Ye hafta been young when yer granny taught ye stabber-wieldin’.”

“I… think I was around seven. Sorry, some of the parts are still blurry.”

“No problem. That’s a nifty start ye got.”

“But not nearly enough. I mean, I don’t recall my parents’ face and name, or even what my hometown was called!”

“Ouch.” Kiyoko winced.

The three rogues were interrupted by C’nangho, who was holding a letter.

“We found this on one of these bastarrrds. It’s in a language none of us know. Do you?”

Moensath took the letter and frowned.

“Nope. Not a thing. Kiyoko?”

The Au Ra took the letter and shook her head.

“It isn’t in any Doman speech I know.”

“And it isn’t in Dhonan either.” Lyrian winced. “Anyone knows a good linguist in Limsa Lominsa?”

“We could try the boss. Or maybe even Baderon.” Moensath suggested.

“Let’s see Jacke first.”

The trio teleported to Limsa Lominsa and went to the headquarters. Jacke was waiting for them.

“So, how did it go?”

“No survivor.” Kiyoko stretched.

“An’ Lyrian got a piece o’ memory back watchin’ Kiyoko’s ninja stuff.” Moensath added. “That aside, we found this.”

Jacke took the letter. It took him several minutes to remember what it was.

“Fishback’s bollocks, this is sahagin!”

“Sahagin?” Lyrian asked. “The fishmen tribe?”

“Aye. Gimme a moment, I’m gonna translate the letter.”

The three rogues watched their leader write the translation on a piece of paper. Kiyoko read it, disbelief on her face.

“This… This is the plan to destroy the Victory! Everything is there: the date, the steps, the tools, everything.”

“Aye.” Jacke nodded. “But it didn’t work.”

“Yes, because of us.” Lyrian understood. “The sahagin didn’t count on the rogues getting involved, and they underestimated how far we would go. The shadows are our domain. They couldn’t honestly hope to prepare something in secret without us hearing about it.”

“That’s where the golem’s attack comes in.” Kiyoko read the letter. “The attack served two purposes. The first was, if the rogues didn’t interfere, to obtain more victims to be sacrificed to Leviathan thanks to Sevrin. The second, which is the one where Lyrian and Perimu interfered, was to draw the rogues’ eyes away from the Victory and use the golem to kill whatever rogue came to the rescue.”

“But our lad bested that beast.” Jacke frowned.

“Yes. Actually, if I’m reading right, the golem was their backup plan. The original plan to kill the new rogue, actually the ‘Foppish Bard of the Drowning Wench’ as they call him, was the ambush at Seasong Grotto with the gobbue. But it failed, and the golem failed as well, putting the schemers in a tight spot. Having failed to eliminate Lyrian, he was free to go to the Drydocks, spy over Ahtzapfyn and warn the Maelstrom ahead of times, giving us the chance to gather and ambush the pirates.”

Lyrian crossed his arms.

“So, I was the target of two assassination attempts? What next? They’re gonna drop a voidsent on my head?”

“Don’t tempt fate, lad.” Moensath called him. “Ain’t gonna do ye good”

“There’s something bothering me.” Kiyoko suddenly said. “Ahtzapfyn’s crew, the Sea Knaves, wasn’t in league with the sahagin, right? It’s the Serpent Reavers, who do.”

“Aye, yer right, lad. The Sea Knaves have nothin’ to do with the fishbacks. An’ yet, that letter’s in sahagin…”

“Hired swords?” Lyrian offered.

This got everyone’s head to turn toward him. The Duskwight raised a brow.

“What?”

“Lad, yer a genius! That’s the key!” Jacke beamed. “Why would the fishbacks not bother sendin’ their lackeys to blow the Victory? It’s ‘cause, despite its importance, it’s not their primary target. The Victory job was a distraction!”

“Th’ fishbacks don’t give a chocobo’s arse about Limsa’s morale, which would’ve gone to th’ drain ‘long th’ ship.” Moensath explained. “Ahtzapfyn did, so they hired ‘im to cause ruckus at th’ Drydocks while they were busy elsewhere. Th’ fishbacks primary goal is to get more worshippers for their god. For them to bother causing a scene, it’s gotta be big.”

“So this means the mess is only half-over yet.” Lyrian mused. “The night is far from over.”

“All of this doesn’t tell us where they’ll strike.” Kiyoko noted. “We don’t know where to go.”

Jacke thought a little.

“With the Victory affair, the Maelstrom’s eyes’ll be headed east. Bet me stabbers they’ll strike west. Let’s see… The Maelstrom’s got an eye on Summerford since the kidnapping attempt, Aleport’s too well-defended to make a good target, they won’t dare to attack Costa del Sol or Wineport… This leaves Swiftperch. Small hamlet, little folks, few fighters, perfect for an attack.”

“Yui’s there.” Kiyoko frowned. “I’ll call him.”

“Aye, do it on the way. We four’s gonna bring the letter to Commodore Reyner. Gotta tell the man the night’s not over yet an’ he better move that yellow arse o’ his if he wants to avoid trouble.”

“Trouble’s already on its way.” Lyrian said darkly. “The matter is to be the first where it’ll strike.”

“True that, lad. That’s why I’m sendin’ everyone to Swiftperch.”

Jacke and Kiyoko spent the trip to Coral Tower calling whoever they could reach and sending them to Swiftperch. Reyner was surprised to see four rogues march in the broad light of the Coral Tower, worry on their face and daggers strapped tight on their waist. For the rogues to be openly parading like this, it had to be serious.

“Hello, Jacke. What can I do for you?”

Jacke handed him the letter’s translation for an answer. The Commodore’s face paled as he read.

“We are most certain Swiftperch is their target.” Lyrian explained. “Of all the settlements in La Noscea, this is the most vulnerable. The rest of the rogues are already on their way.”

“I never had a reason to doubt the rogues’ judgment before.” Reyner shook his head. “Your skills at intelligence gathering are well-known and you demonstrated it with the Victory. Yes, I already heard of it. That was well-done.” He looked at the rogues. “Unfortunately, the sahagins are massing a massive force at South Tidegate and I had to send most of my men there. I’ll send the rest to Swiftperch as backup.”

“Thanks, Commodore.” Jacke nodded. “We rogues ain’t used to fightin’ ranged battle like these. We’re better at strikin’ from the shadows. Now, everyone on the move! We need to be at Swiftperch before these Leviathan-worshippin’ arseholes.”

Lyrian, Moensath and Kiyoko nodded and teleported. They found Swiftperch crowded with rogues and Yellowjackets. V’kebbe, Perimu, Yui, Nora, Doeswilf, Valentine, Z’ajhi, Bibina, Stephen, Daca’li, Sthalmhas… Nearly every rogue had come to the hamlet and had sharpened their knives for the occasion. Yui greeted his wife with a kiss.

“Nothing yet. The Serpent Reavers have yet to show, but it isn’t a problem. We’re ready to greet them.”

“With a knife in the throat.” Kiyoko smiled.

They waited. The whole night, they waited. Jacke joined them no long after the trio arrived and they received the help of several squads of Yellowjackets, what little Reyner could afford to spare. The Reavers struck at the darkest hour, the one right before dawn.

Yui whistled at the sight.

“The Navigator helps us, there’s nearly a hundred of them!”

“An’ we’re barely fifty.” Jacke said darkly. “Llymlaen better lend us a solid or we won’t see the dawn.”

Lyrian had his bow in hand. Archers of the Yellowjackets were at his side. He was joined by Kiyoko and Yui.

“We got a Ninjutsu that will even the odds.” The Hyur ninja grinned. “I hope the Reavers like the scent of burning flesh.”

Jacke snarled when he saw who was leading the Reavers.

“Baenryss o’ the Deep. One o’ the worst curs that sailed the seas. There’s big money for his head.”

“Then let’s make sure he loses it.” Lyrian said as he aimed his bow up.

As the Serpent Reavers charged, the Duskwight fired in the sky. A deluge of arrows landed on the pirates, followed by the volley of the Yellowjackets. Those Reavers that didn’t fall were torched by a pair of fireballs from the ninja couple.

“ _Katon_.” Kiyoko grinned. “Perfect for getting rid of large groups. Also, this may come handy.”

She jumped in the middle of the Reavers, made three hand seals and jumped back as quicksand caught the charging wave.

“Open fire!” Glazrael Saltwind ordered. “Leave not a single man alive!”

The archers opened fire again, helped by Lyrian, Yui and his wife. All together, their combined effort cut nearly thirty of the Reavers. Then the primal worshippers got close enough for to fight and the archers shifted to axes and wands. Lyrian took his daggers and jumped in the melee. The rogues were everywhere, spinning, slashing and throwing knives. Enhanced by one of their Ninjutsu, Yui and Kiyoko were a pair of whirlwinds breezing across the battlefield. The Yellowjackets were fighting as well, with the ferocity of hardened sea wolves. Axes and spells rang and sang as steel shed blood over the land. Lyrian, being a rookie, was fighting simply and efficiently, eviscerating his enemies or going for the throat. V’kebbe had given him a belt of throwing knives he put to good use by sending them in exposed backs. For an hour, the fight seemed even.

Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tides shifted to the heroes. V’kebbe gutted a brawler while Perimu introduced his knife to a diviner. Lyrian bum-rushed a saltwitch, dodging a fireball in the process, and opened her throat. He glanced at Jacke, who was fighting Baenryss with Captain Ryssfloh. Suddenly, Baenryss knocked Ryssfloh with the flat of his axe and nearly cut a line over Jacke’s chest. The rogue dodged with a backflip and jumped aside to avoid a rock-splitting swing.

“God’s piss, stay still!” Baenryss roared.

Lyrian saw his chance. His emotions were running wild, aether and adrenaline pumping through his veins. He felt swifter and faster than he was at the beginning of the fight. So he ran. Baenryss was too busy trying to catch Jacke to see the ash-skinned Duskwight dash across the battlefield. At the last moment, Lyrian jumped and, in a surprising display of agility, vaulted over the Reaver who was caught off-guard by the Elezen’s sudden appearance. This was his downfall. Lyrian kicked him in the jaw, forcing him several steps back. Before the Roegadyn could recover, Lyrian spun and slashed his throat open, then swept his knees and drew a bloody line along his spine. The Reaver collapsed, dead. It didn’t take long for his men to notice.

There was a moment of hesitation among the Reavers. Then a voice shot.

“Baenryss is dead! The Captain has fallen!”

Panic swept among the Reavers. The rogues and Yellowjackets had fought like sharks and, despite being outnumbered, they hadn’t suffered as much casualties as the primal worshippers. Of the hundred men that had gone, less than twenty remained. Those men beat a hasty retreat. Jacke and Glazrael called their men.

“After ‘em! Leave no one alive!”

The rogues lost no time running after the pirates. Some Yellowjackets switched their axes for bows and followed them. Lyrian leaned against a building and took a moment to encompass the battlefield. There wasn’t a single patch of land in Swiftperch that wasn’t red. The walls were no exception either, blood staining as high as the windows. Bodies of pirates, rogues and Yellowjackets lay on the ground, all maimed and torn to some point. Sthalmhas, Bibina, Z’ajhi, Nora… He counted nine rogues lying lifelessly in their blood. They had been twenty-four to fight, nearly half of the defending force. The Yellowjackets had also suffered casualties. Half of their numbers were sailing with Llymlaen. And, among all this, the Reavers. Rogues and Yellowjackets had left no prisoner. Almost ninety dead pirates were strewn on the ground. A victory. Costly, but still a victory. Moensath was being mended by a healer for a lucky hit on the shoulder, Daca’li had lost an eye to a wind spell and Perimu was missing part of his right ear. Lyrian himself had several scratches, but it was nothing a good potion couldn’t cure.

He popped one and breathed, the adrenaline slowly falling back. They had won, Swiftperch was safe and he was still alive. All in all, a good day. Now, he really wanted to sleep…

Unholy darkness clouded the sky, hiding the rising dawn and most of Swiftperch from view. Lyrian jumped and took his bow.

“ ** _O mournful voice of creation, send unto me a creature of the abyss, my thrall to command, so I may smite mine enemy!_** ”

The Duskwight turned to see a man clad in black robes, his face covered with a black mask that bore a glowing red sigil. He shuddered. For some reason, the man reminded him of the one he had seen in his dream on his way to Limsa Lominsa.

From a portal to the Void, a gargoyle emerged, two sharp swords in hand. Lyrian gulped. Moensath had been right, he shouldn’t have tempted fate. Now, Nymeia was out to make him regret it the hard way.

“Twice before, you got in our way and impaired our plans. I shall ensure you do not live to do it a third time, Chosen of Hydaelyn.” The man snarled. “You bested the goobbue and the golem, but you will not best this gargoyle!”

“We’ll see about that.” Lyrian retorted.

The gargoyle swung at him. The Duskwight jumped away and fired an arrow that struck its eye. The Voidsent roared and slashed, only for Lyrian to outflank it and strike arrows in the more vulnerable parts of its anatomy: the joins, the wings, the head, the tail… A sudden backslash knocked Gandiva from his hands. It didn’t matter. Lyrian took his daggers instead and dodged the swipes while harassing his enemy. But the Duskwight was tired. He hadn’t slept in nearly a day and this was taking its toll on him. Desperate, he made a daring move and climbed the gargoyle’s back before tearing its throat. The Voidsent collapsed under the masked man’s disbelieving eyes.

“How!?”

“You said it yourself.” A female voice answered.

Lyrian turned to see Y’shtola and Jacke entering the field of darkness. Jacke was furious.

“So _ye_ are the cur who tried to off me lad. Ye bastard’s gonna find out what happens when one targets me men!”

Y’shtola cast a healing spell on Lyrian who stretched. It didn’t remove his tiredness, but it still returned some of his strength.

“Thanks. I was at this from dropping like a fly.”

“You’re welcome. Good job slaying that fiend.”

“We still got the summoner to deal with. Seven hells, I’m starting to feel numb...”

“Don’t worry lad. Once this arsehole’s dealt with, I’ll take ye to the Drowning Wench meself. Ye well earned some sleep.”

Lyrian nodded and summoned more aether through his body. It was taking most of his willpower to keep his body running and, all in all, Y’shtola and Jacke dealt most damage to the masked man. As he collapsed, so did Lyrian.

“How…?” The man gasped in his dying breath. “How can… mere mortals… best a Paragon –“

Y’shtola winced.

“Paragon? Hmm, that’s what I thought.”

Jacke and Lyrian gave her a puzzled look. The Miqo’te explained.

“Paragons, also known as Harbingers of Chaos, or Ascians, are beings from the Dark. It seems this man was one.”

“I heard the cur’s confession.” Jacke grumbled. “He’s the one who tried to kill Lyrian, the one who set up this mess.”

“It seems so.” Y’shtola glanced at Lyrian. “You look dead on your feet. Jacke, can you bring him to the Drowning Wench? I’ll handle the report. All of us could use some sleep, myself included…”

“Sure thing. I was ‘bout to do just that.”

Y’shtola nodded as Jacke held Lyrian and teleported. In the sky, darkness had faded and dawn was rising bright.

The night was over at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing they don't say in Encyclopaedia Eorzea is that Nymeia is a bitch who loves a good challenge, as Lyrian learned the hard way. "What next? They’re gonna drop a voidsent on my head?” Let's be real: he was asking for it.
> 
> And this, ladies and gentlemen, is the Upright Thieves going all out.


	5. The Iron Lady

Baderon watched wordlessly as Jacke carried Lyrian to his room. It was the break of dawn and the innkeeper had just taken up. The sight was unusual and made him wonder what happened.

“On one hand…” Jacke chuckled. “The lad learned not to taunt the Spinner. On the other, the kidnappin’s are over. Case solved, in no small part thanks to him. Now I’m takin’ him to his room since he can’t walk.”

Indeed, Lyrian was all but sleeping. He didn’t surface the whole morning, which worried some of the patrons. In the meantime, the corpses of Ahtzapfyn, Baenryss and the man in black were put in cages for the ravens and gulls. Thus was Limsa Lominsa’s justice. Lyrian finally woke up two bells past midday, his body sore and his stomach empty. Baderon watched him with a smile on his face. I’tolwann had told him the whole story – and rumors ran fast among adventurers. The man thus knew what the Duskwight had done and prepared a solid breakfast, as well as a bottle of special apple cider from Gridania. Despite living in a pirate city, Lyrian hardly drank and cider was the only alcohol he indulged in.

Lyrian sat at a table and smiled as I’tolwann served him.

“With Baderon’s blessings.” The Miqo’te grinned. “Congratulation for last night. You were amazing.”

“I wasn’t alone.” Lyrian retorted. “But thank. I appreciate. Now, about that breakfast…”

He devoured the meal with a rare eagerness. His body was hungry and worn from last night, though the sleep had helped soothe the wear. Perimu entered the inn as he savored the cider, a letter in hand.

“Hey there.” The Duskwight offered the Lalafell a seat. “Slept well?”

“Aye, though not as much as ye. Ye were dead to th’ world last time th’ boss checked. Helluva long nap if ye ask, but then again, ye had to fight a friggin’ voidsent, o’ all things! No wonder ye were wrung.”

“Yep. Next time, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

Perimu nodded and served himself some cider. He usually went for stronger spirits, but just this time…

“By th’ by, got a mail for ye, straight from Commodore Reyner’s hand.”

Lyrian raised a brow. The letter bore the seal of the Maelstrom. He used a knife to open it and read. His eyes widened with each lines.

“The Admiral wants to see me? Personally?”

Perimu looked at him.

“An audience with th’ Admiral, huh? Should’ve guessed.”

“But why me in particular?” Lyrian asked. “I’m just a bard who happens to work with the rogues. What could she want that another rogue couldn’t provide?”

“Beats me. How ‘bout ye ask her herself?”

This seemed like a plan to the Elezen, who went to meet the Admiral after a bit of cleanup. His armor needed some repairs – nothing he couldn’t fix. Merlwyb Bloefhiswyn, the Iron Lady of the Seas, was waiting for him in her office. She was as tall as Lyrian, her skin and hair alabaster and a nose as straight as her lips. She was busty, Lyrian noticed, which was made more obvious by the generous cleavage of her black dress. A pair of double-barreled pistols was hanging on her waist.

Her second, Eynzahr Slafyrsyn, was standing by her side. Lyrian stood still and put his hands before him, somewhat cowed by the woman’s presence. By simply being around her, he could tell why people called her the Iron Lady. This woman was made of tempered steel.

“Lyrian Sombléclipse.” The Admiral said. “I heard much about you.”

“Likewise, Admiral.” Lyrian answered politely.

Merlwyb looked at the Elezen. They were equal in size, his skin the color of ashes, with soft silver hair and his eyes a vibrant shade of purple. He was slim, almost reed-like in build, as befit someone who relied on agility and speed, and his soft features testified of his youth. Nineteen summers, people had said. Finally, though he had gone absolutely weaponless as a proof he meant no harm, he still wore his foppish blue, red and white armor, his bard armor as people called it.

All in all handsome, with a silken bass-baritone voice. Attractive.

Merlwyb crossed her arms. His helping the people of Limsa Lominsa and La Noscea had netted him a kind and selfless reputation. The rogues had testified of a different side, that of a fierce fighter who gave his foes no chance. Rampaging goobbue? Control the earth to impale it. Golem? Go straight for the heart. Humans? Go for the throat. You can’t be wrong with the throat. Nice but deadly. A bard.

“You wished to see me.” Lyrian said in his most formal tone. “What can I do for you?”

Merlwyb shook her head, a smile on her face.

“You have done more than enough for us already. It would be unfair to ask for more, especially after last night.”

Lyrian shrugged.

“You would be in your right. You’re the Admiral, after all. You rule the place. Besides, I still feel a bit sore, but nothing too painful. So, what do you want?”

Merlwyb didn’t miss the edge in the man’s voice. Whatever he had expected, it wasn’t going that way.

“What makes you think I may want something of you?”

“Why else would you call me? Besides, if you won’t mind me saying, I’m just a bard and rogue-in-training. There’s nothing I have others can’t give you, except maybe a good song.”

It took the Admiral to pinpoint the Duskwight’s problem. The realization made her want to pinch the bridge of her nose.

Lyrian believed himself to be nothing special. If Y’shtola and Jacke’s words were to be believed, he was anything but.

“So, you believe yourself to be an ordinary person?”

“Aside from my amnesia, yes.”

“And yet, you wield a magic unlike any other and bear a Crystal of Light.”

“I don’t see how it matters in my daily life. Look, all I want is to sing songs and help the other Lominsans. Nothing else.”

“You wish for a peaceful life.” Merlwyb understood.

“Yes, until my memories return.”

A smile crossed the Admiral’s face.

“I called you in my office because I wanted to meet you. You have a certain reputation, Lyrian Sombréclipse, and I wanted to see with my own eyes if you lived up to it.”

Lyrian blinked.

“Hope I’m not too disappointing…”

“Your attitude is.”

The Duskwight recoiled a little.

“Apologies. I didn’t mean ill. I just… still don’t get why I’m there, of all places. If you wanted to merely see me, you could have just gone to the Drowning Wench.”

He meant it. The office made him feel uncomfortable and gave him the itch to turn tails and run back to the inn.

“That is what I mean.” Merlwyb sighed. “Your attitude doesn’t match what I heard about you.”

Lyrian looked down. Eynzahr put a hand on the Admiral’s shoulder and uttered.

“If I may say, it seems the boy doesn’t feel at ease in there. Look carefully: he’s at this from running away.”

Now he mentioned it, Merlwyb could indeed tell the Elezen was tense.

“Is there something worrying you?” She asked. “You look on edge.”

Lyrian didn’t answer. All he wanted was to leave. The Admiral nodded.

“You’re free to go. I’ve seen what I wanted.”

It was only a partial truth, but it was truth nonetheless: she had met him physically. Lyrian lost no time turning on his heels and walking out at a brisk pace. He dropped quickly by the Drowning Wench to retrieve his fishing rod – any citizen of La Noscea knew how to fish – and headed to the Agelyss river. Perimu found him there, a straw hat on his head, sitting on the grass as he waited for a catch.

“How’d it go with th’ Admiral?”

Lyrian shuddered.

“I hate closed offices, especially with people that intimidating inside…”

“Uh, went south, then.”

“She called me to her office to _meet me!_ ” Lyrian scoffed. “That’s all, nothing else. Just wanted to see what I was like. If that’s what she wanted, she could’ve simply gone to the Drowning Wench an evening. Instead, she summons me to her office as if I was one of her subordinates or a high-ranking official and she wanted to scold me. I hate these places. Last time I was in one, I broke my spear and threw it away…”

Perimu raised a brow.

“Ye used to wield a spear?”

“Yeah, _used_. I swore to never use one after I got fed up with Gridania’s justice…. Or lack thereof.”

Perimu nodded.

“There’s rumors goin’ ‘round that ye used to be Gridanian ‘til ye got exiled. Somethin’ bad happened, pretty nasty I heard.”

Lyrian’s face darkened.

“…I don’t like talking about it. In fact, now you mention it, I don’t like talking to officials, period. Jacke doesn’t count since he works from the shadows.” A smile crossed his face. “Maybe that’s why I like working with the Rogues. You’re a peacekeeping force, but you don’t act in the open.”

Perimu nodded.

“Ain’t a beef against th’ authorities, at least.”

“No. I just don’t feel at ease around them. Always worried they’d scold or belittle me. Also, I don’t like the spotlight. Yeah, I know, it’s funny for a bard. But the attention isn’t the same.”

“I get what ye mean. All rogues are a bit like that. In our profession, ain’t ever done good to be th’ target of attention.”

Eynzahr, on Merlwyb’s orders, had followed Lyrian at respectable distance and overheard the conversation. Through his linkpearl, he told the Admiral of his finding. Merlwyb’s lips were tight, but she didn’t say anything. She understood. The Duskwight was a crystal of many facets: kind, ruthless, humble, mysterious, odd…

At least, now, they knew why things had gone sour at her office: the place and the people present had rubbed off the wrong way. Well, there were ways to get around the problem. Besides, now she thought about it, she did have something to ask him. That, and she wanted him to meet a certain organization.

She waited the evening to act. As always, the Duskwight was at the Drowning Wench, singing songs for sailors and adventurers alike. Merlwyb stood by the entrance to listen. She hummed. The man had a deliciously deep voice. Eynzahr smiled.

“A far cry from the man we met this afternoon, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. And now, we know why.”

Eynzahr frowned.

“He was exiled, Admiral. How do you want him to deliver your message to Kan-E-Senna if he can’t enter the Twelveswood?”

“There are ways to get around the restrictions. If he goes as my envoy rather than a simple person, my authority will overwrite the exile order. Besides, the stay will only be temporary. Time to give the message and leave – it will take less than a sun.”

“But you know what they say about the Twelveswood. If the Elementals themselves refuse entrance…”

“Then we’ll abide by their rules and he’ll wait at the edge. Still, I wonder what he did to get exiled…”

“They kicked me out for hitting a Padjal. At least, that’s the short story.”

Merlwyb and Eynzahr turned to Lyrian, startled. The Duskwight tapped his ear.

“We dark elves have keen ears. It’s one of the reasons we’re good hunters… and singers. Keen ears are incredibly helpful in music.”

The two Roegadyns turned to one another.

“…Did you just call yourself a dark elf?”

“Yes. Why?”

Eynzahr raised a brow. No Elezen ever called himself an elf. This was a major insult among them. Calling a Wildwood a wood elf or a Duskwight a dark elf was ground for cold-blooded murder. He had seen it happen at least once, and told the Duskwight as much. Lyrian shrugged.

“Gridanians don’t give a damn about my kin. I know most are bandits, but even those who try to fit in among the population are faced with discrimination. I was no exception… and the friend I lost wasn’t either. In fact, it is _because_ of this discrimination that he died. That, and those Elemental _pests_ prevented me from saving him.”

Merlwyb picked a seat and asked for two ales and an orange juice. She knew Lyrian wasn’t keen on drinking and she was curious about his story. Several people had gathered as well. Lyrian took a seat, put his harp away and recalled the events that led to his exile.

<> <> <>

It all started when a trio of Wood Wailers, disgruntled by their low wages, decided to take off with the coffers. On the way, one of them, a Duskwight called Foulques Vandariel, began to feel remorse and convinced his companions to give back the coffers. The other two agreed… at first. As soon as the three returned, Foulques’ companions put the blame solely on him. Despite his protests, everyone was convinced of his culpability. After all, he was a Duskwight and Duskwights were bandits, right?

Foulques was jailed for a crime he committed, but not alone. The anger and hatred devoured his heart, until one day he escaped and disappeared in the Shroud.

One year later, a young Duskwight joined the Lancer’s guild in the hopes of becoming a Wood Wailer. He was but nineteen winters, the amnesiac apprentice of a bard who sought to master the spear. Coming back from one of his trials, he found the guild in an uproar: a Duskwight, older yet by many traits similar to him, had defeated most of his guildmates and had his spear pointed at the guildmaster, Ywain. Foulques had returned to enact his vengeance upon those who had once wronged him.

Seeing the newcomer, he turned his spear upon him, expecting the younger man to freak out. The young Duskwight, Lyrian, didn’t flinch.

“Point that somewhere else, will you?”

Then he pushed the spear away from his face. New as he may be to the weapon, having been trained as a bard meant Lyrian was a keen archer. As he explained Ywain:

“In a spear fight, I will lose. But let me take my bow and he’ll be a hedgehog before he made three steps.”

It was neither recklessness nor bravado, but the confidence of someone skilled in his field. Foulques may be the better lancer, but the young bard had the advantage of longer range. This is why, no matter how much Foulques taunted him, Lyrian never gave in. Had he wanted the rogue lancer dead, Foulques would have never seen his demise come.

Under Ywain, Lyrian trained, developing a clever and somewhat unorthodox fighting style. The whole spear was his weapon, not just the sharp end. Fouques learned it the hard way when, fed up with the man, the younger Duskwight caught him by surprise and knocked him with the butt of the pole. Foulques found himself on his rear and facing a quite miffed lancer.

“What in Oschon’s name is your problem!? You keep taunting us again and again, endangering us with no reason whatsoever when all we want is to train in peace, and instead you put us in life or death situation against rabid monsters! Ria nearly lost a hand to a boar during your last stunt and I was at this from switching to archery when you put me against those wolves! Now, tell me why you do that, and your explanation better be rock solid, or else…”

Foulques recoiled before the fierce purple eyes of the man. He had expected him to fight back at some point, just not like that.

“I told you why. I am teaching you true courage…”

“That’s chocobo crap and you know it! What you call courage, I call it recklessness! Jumping head-first into danger isn’t being brave, it’s being suicidal! Do you have a death wish or what? If that’s the case, I would appreciate you didn’t drag us along. We value our lives, thank you very much!”

Those words were what Foulques needed to open his eyes. Indeed, he was being suicidal. The pain of betrayal and the unfairness of his judgment had driven him over the edge, sending him on a rampage that would eventually end in death, most likely his and anyone he managed to drag along. Lyrian was the only one who had seen through his act and caught his real intentions.

With tears in his eyes, Foulques confided in the whole story: the theft, the guilt, the betrayal, the escape… Against all expectation, Lyrian understood, and his arms held the lancer tight as his tears flowed free. Foulques held nothing back, no detail, no tear, no emotion. Lyrian took it all and offered comfort in return, as well as the promise Foulques’ former comrades would get their comeuppance.

That very day, he told Ywain everything. The guildmaster lost no time launching an investigation. In the meantime, Lyrian trained, praying in his heart his master would be successful. And Foulques kept low, not once going to Gridania or challenging a single trainee. He was bidding his time, waiting for his new friend to make good on his word. And, indeed, Ywain caught Foulques’ former friends… but it was too late, for the Wood Wailers caught Foulques the same day.

Backed in a corner, the rogue lancer was forced to fight for his life. There were casualties, of course. When Lyrian came, he found six dead Wood Wailers at the Duskwight’s feet and the last slowly but surely pushing him toward a chasm. Lyrian knocked the Wood Wailer and grabbed his friend’s hand, saving him from the fall. Foulques then clarified the situation and, tears in his eyes, begged Lyrian to tell him the nightmare would be over soon. Lyrian had just told him Ywain had found his former friends when a spear lodged itself in the lancer’s back. The last Wood Wailer had regained consciousness and gone for the kill.

Rage in his heart, Lyrian took the spear and threw it right in its owner’s chest, killing him on the spot. He then tried to heal Foulques, only for O-App-Pesi and a group of Wood Wailers to come and stop him. By the time they were done arguing, it was too late. In his dying breath, Foulques uttered a thanks to the only man who ever showed him kindness, the sole person in the Twelveswood who had understood his pain and helped him overcome it. Lyrian found himself paralyzed, unable to believe the man he had fought so hard to save was now dead. When he did…

His slap was strong enough to leave a lasting mark on the Padjal’s face. For this, and for the crime of helping a wanted criminal, Kan-E-Senna banished him from Gridania and the Twelveswood altogether. Thus was the decision of the Elementals. Enraged by Foulques’ death, Lyrian broke his spear in a fit of jest and threw it before the Elder Seedseer.

“Perfect. I won’t want to return to this place ever again. You could have avoided it.” He added accusingly. “If you hadn’t bought in the lies of Foulques’ comrades and understood they were framing him, it wouldn’t have turned that way. But instead, you let racism and discrimination cloud your judgment, and now he’s dead. You know what? You’re no better than Ishgard!”

The barb hit its mark as several people recoiled. The Holy See’s racism was well known across Eorzea. To be compared to it was a grade A insult, and one that _stung_.

“I am leaving, not because you’re exiling me but on my own free will. I want nothing to do with this city and its people. You say get away and I say good riddance. It wasn’t a pleasure knowing you.”

And so he left, under the hushed whispers and eerie silence of the people present. The Gridanians’ racism and xenophobia had brought an unexpected disaster, one that hurt their mentality. Wanting to put the Twelveswood away from him, Lyrian picked a boat and headed to Limsa Lominsa, but not before giving Foulques one last present: a grave of stone and snow in the frozen land of Coerthas. Lyrian didn’t want the rogue lancer to be buried in the land that had turned on him. Instead, he gave him funerals in the land of the Dragoons, the Ishgardian masters of the spear. In his mind, it was the most fitting place.

<> <> <>

Now, there he was, a bard in exile, earning his living through songs and odd jobs. Lyrian had been soured forever on Gridanian mentality and sworn to never use a spear out of resentment.

Merlwyb quietly nodded. Now, she understood why Lyrian wasn’t fond of authority and preferred to avoid it. But Limsa Lominsa wasn’t Gridania and the affair reminded her of Summerford and Sevrin. The former pirate had attempted to sell his comrades before turning against his employers out of guilt at the last moment and surrendering himself to justice. The man was currently doing community work under the careful eye of the Yellowjackets and showed no sign of relapsing in a criminal mindset. His desire to atone was genuine, as had Foulques before his comrades turned on him. Had the affair occurred in Limsa Lominsa, the Duskwight would have shared Sevrin’s fate. She reminded herself to address the matter next time she met Kan-E-Senna.

Baderon brought Lyrian a new drink. The Duskwight sipped it softly. There were wet trails on his cheeks, silent tears shed as he recalled the story. Everyone could tell the pain was not yet gone and he still suffered from the loss. No one dared to speak aloud, instead keeping their voice to toned-down whispers. And, from what Merlwyb could hear, those were angry whispers.

Perimu had been at the inn as well and had heard the whole tale. It explained a lot of things about the Duskwight.

“Sorry fer yer loss.” The Lalafell said. “Yer pal wouldn’t have met the same fate had th’ mess occurred in Limsa. Fer starters, we rogues would’ve stolen the money back…”

“I know. That’s why I like working with you guys. But he was going to give it back and surrender himself anyway.”

“And we’d have treated him and his pals like we treated Sevrin. Ain’t such thing like racism in Limsa Lominsa. Everyone here comes from all kinda horizons. We can’t afford to be.”

“That is something I’ve noticed. Yui, Kiyoko and I are exiles and you still took us in.”

“Aye. Unlike th’ other tree-worshippers, we believe in second chance, long as your crime’s not too bad. Rape, slavery, murder… Things like these, we punish with a stabber in th’ back. The rest, well, ye know how it works.”

Lyrian frowned and looked away.

“Something few people know or that they tend to forget is that the Seedseers are bound to the will of the Elementals. And trust me, those beings are _very_ real. And if you don’t abide by their rules, either you’re punished with Woodsin and the entire wildlife, from the wolves to the boars to the _ladybugs_ is out for your blood, or you face the much wider Greenwrath, which is the Elementals deciding to wipe an area clean from human presence. If the Seedseers don’t play ball, they run the risk of incurring the Greenwrath _over the entirety of the Twelveswood_ , which means goodbye Gridania, the Quarrymill, Bentbranch Meadow and every other settlement in there.” The Duskwight crossed his arms. “So, fair or not, Kan-E-Senna had to obey the Elementals and kick me or face their wrath.”

Everyone was dead-silent. Eynzahr frowned.

“I had… heard about those mysterious Elementals that seemed to be ruling the Blackshroud, but I didn’t know their influence was so great. This puts a lot of Gridania’s actions into a new light.”

“Indeed.” Merlwyb nodded.

The thought of obeying beings like the Elementals didn’t sit well with her if it prevented her from making the decisions she wanted about the city. Affairs like the one involving Foulques and Lyrian was one of them. She reclined in her seat, a scowl on her face.

“How much at odds are you currently with Gridania?” She asked the Duskwight.

Lyrian paused.

“I’ll behave cordially as long as one doesn’t bring the affair with Foulques.”

“So, if someone sent you there on an errand, you would be able to fulfill it.”

“Depends the kind, and it also depends if the Elementals will let me in. If they don’t want me in the Twelveswood, you’ll have to entrust the errand to someone else.”

“It’s simple delivery, actually. Just a message I want you to give to Kan-E-Senna. I have another for Raubahn Aldynn, but here again, it will depend of your standing regarding Ul’Dah.”

Lyrian grumbled.

“My only grief with Ul’Dah is that I wish they had an organization like the Rogues’ Guild to keep the corruption to tolerable levels. That apart, I got a few friends in the Pugilist and Thaumaturge Guilds.”

Merlwyb nodded.

“Very well. I will give you the messages tomorrow. Eynzahr, do you believe you can accompany him? If he’s refused entrance in the Shroud, you will be the one who’ll give the message to Kan-E-Senna.”

A smirk crossed Lyrian’s face.

“Delivery boy? That’s up my field. I’ll take on the job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, you know how it went with the Lancer questline. Lyrian is still livid about Foulques' death and that's why he never uses a polearm. It's also why he has a beef against authority: they burned him once and he isn't about to forget, even if your name is Merlwyb instead of Kan-E-Senna. Fortunately, the Iron Lady is more reasonable...


	6. The light gathers

Courier. So, this was what Admiral Merlwyb wanted of him. Simple enough, and it let him use airships.

He made no fuss about it. V’kebbe kept saying it was a huge honor to be allowed to use them, especially with the risk posed by Garlemald and its fleet, but as Lyrian discovered when he set foot in the vessel, the sensation of flying was not unknown to him.

“Funny.” He told Eynzahr. “I don’t remember flying per se, but my body does. The wind on my face, brushing and messing with my hair, that’s something I experienced before. If only I could remember where…”

Eynzahr patiently nodded. Another missing piece in the puzzle that was the Duskwight’s memory. Together they flew, the former captain accompanying the young bard to the Golden City of Ul’Dah. They arrived in the evening and lost no time heading to the palace. Raubahn Aldynn was waiting for them, the sultana at his side.

“Grand Marshall Slafyrsyn, it is always a pleasure to meet Admiral Merlwyb’s second in command.”

“And it is a pleasure to meet the mighty Flame General.” Eynzahr answered politely.

Raubahn’s eyes fell on the Duskwight.

“May I ask who this man is?”

Eynzahr smiled.

“Lyrian Sombléclipse, a bard and rogue-in-training the Admiral tasked with the delivery of letters – to you and Elder Kan-E-Senna, regarding the memorial service for the fifth anniversary of the Battle of Carteneau.”

Lyrian bowed and gave the general his letter. Raubahn opened it, his eyes not leaving the Duskwight. Sultana Nanamo looked at Lyrian.

“May we ask why you are accompanying him?”

“In case the Twelveswood refuse him entrance. Lyrian was exiled from Gridania for reasons that are his to disclose.”

The sultana nodded.

“We understand. And yet, the Admiral chose him as her envoy. This means she value his skills.”

Eynzahr held a laugh.

“Aye, skilled he is, and in more ways than one.”

Sultana Nanamo gave the Duskwight a once over. Indeed, her instinct as a ruler told her there was more to the Elezen than met the eye.

Raubahn looked at Lyrian.

“Tell me, what do you know about the Battle of Carteneau?”

“What everyone knows.” Lyrian shrugged. “It was the last major confrontation between the Eorzean Alliance and the Garlean Empire. In an attempt to stop Project Meteor, the Alliance launched itself against Nael van Darnus’s VIIth legion, only for Dalamud to not just fall from the sky but split apart, revealing an angry and powerful elder primal: Bahamut. Bahamut laid waste over Eorzea in an event we call the Calamity, which marked the shift from the Sixth Astral Era to the Seventh Umbral Era. The events happened five years ago, a time during which Eorzeans and Garleans maintained a state of Cold War as both sides licked their wounds.”

“This is more than I expected from a bard.” Raubahn crossed hiss arms. “This is indeed most of it.”

“Don’t mistake bards and minstrels, General.” Lyrian grinned. “We may wander and sing songs, but unlike our counterparts, we fight as well. Master Jehantel and I traveled a lot during my teenage years. This is why I’m well-informed about the matters of the land.”

Nevertheless, him going silent and looking away right afterwards told Nanamo there was more to it. Something was bothering the Duskwight, and Raubahn noticed it.

“Is there something wrong?”

“Nothing.” Lyrian shook his head. “It’s just that my earliest memory dates from a few days after the Calamity.”

“You are amnesiac!?” The sultana gasped.

“Everyone in Limsa Lominsa knows. My memories have been coming back, but not enough to tell me who I am and where I come from. I try to live a peaceful life while waiting for their return. Go ask why, though, Nymeia seems to have a thing against be because, ever since I joined the rogues, I run from trouble to trouble. Barely a moment to catch my breath…”

“You’ll have all the time to catch your breath once that delivery job is over.” Eynzahr reassured. “I’ll pass the word around to leave you alone for a few days. This should be enough for you to get proper rest.”

Lyrian nodded gratefully. Raubahn turned to Eynzahr.

“Speaking of which, a pet of mine has been giving me trouble, recently. A _Black Wolf_. I may need help to keep it in a leash…”

The Roegadyn quietly nodded.

“I will inform the Admiral. Kan-E-Senna as well if Lyrian isn’t granted entrance in the Shroud.”

Lyrian looked at the pair.

“A Black Wolf? Isn’t that the nickname of Gaius van Baelsar, the vice-governor of Ala Mhigo?”

Once more, Raubahn was surprised by how much the Duskwight knew.

“Yes. We believe the Garleans may get more active soon, and that he may be at their head.”

“Uh.” Lyrian sighed. “I guess quiet times really are over. Alright. We’ll pass the word.”

In his head, he prayed Nymeia to keep him alive until his memories were back.

‘ _I will really not be happy if I die before I can remember who I am. That would suck._ ’

He and Eynzahr took the airship to Gridania.

“You aren’t attuning to the Aetherite in Ul’Dah?”

“Already done when I went to study Thaumaturgy with the Cocobros.” Seeing the Roegadyn’s puzzled face, he explained. “Cocobuki and his brothers, Cocobygo, Cocobani, Cocobezi and Cocoboha. The five of them are masters of the Thaumaturge guilds, but Cocobuki is the oldest and most powerful, and thus the de-facto leader. Master Jehantel took me to them the first time I manifested my magic. As it is, learning with them was helpful, but my magic is still fundamentally different from Thaumaturgy. The way I manipulate the elements isn’t the same, so I left eventually. We’re still on good term.”

Eynzahr nodded.

“What about Conjury?”

“Anytime I tried to use my magic, the Elementals threatened me with Woodsin, so it was much harder. Mirielle, one of the Healers at the Stillglade Fane, still took pity of me and took me to Eastern Thanalan, not far from the southern edge of the Twelveswood. This is where I… half learned, half-remembered how to manipulate Water, Earth and Wind. I had no talent for healing magic, though. Somehow, whenever I try to heal someone, I have trouble controlling the aether flow and it becomes harmful. I preferred to drop it and focus on elemental manipulation. This is what my magic does: spread in the land, seize control of the elements it can find and bring it on my foe’s head.” Lyrian smiled. “And the funny thing is that, the wider the area, the easier it is to control. On the other hand, overdoing it can make me pass out, so it’s a delicate balance to find, and not remotely subtle. That’s why I prefer to use my bow most of times. Less damage, but less exhaustion and more accuracy and speed.”

“It is more practical.” Eynzahr summed up.

“Yep.”

They watched as the Twelveswood came in sight. As per Eynzahr’s command, the airship slowed down. Lyrian braced himself, expecting to feel the Elementals’ hostility wash over him… Instead, nothing happened. They flew at slow pace for a malm before the airship sped up again and docked in Gridania.

The moment Lyrian set food on the docks, he heard the Elementals. There was no hostility or disapproval in their voice. Instead, there was acknowledgement.

“ _Welcome back, Champion of Hydaelyn._ ”

The Duskwight froze. Did he hear right? Just in case, he put on a hooded coat and a mask so no one in the city would recognize him. The Elementals may have welcomed him, but no one said the Gridanians would do the same. He had still hit a Padjal across the face.

Eynzahr looked at him.

“Looks like the Woods still want you in, after all.”

“I don’t understand.” Lyrian said as they headed to the Lotus Stand. “It was the Elementals themselves who decided I was to be exiled. And now, just because Hydaelyn chose me as her champion, I am suddenly welcome back? I never understood how these guys thought.”

“I did.” A soft voice said.

Lyrian raised his head. They had arrived in the Lotus Stand and Kan-E-Senna, along with three of her personal guards, was looking at him.

“You can remove your hood and your mask, Lyrian Sombréclipse. The Elementals warned me of your coming.”

Lyrian complied and bowed politely.

“Elder Seedseer. If I may be bold to ask, can you tell me why the Elementals are suddenly so friendly after choosing to banish me?”

He tried to keep his voice neutral, but Kan-E-Senna still sensed bitterness. She understood.

“The Elementals couldn’t order you dead. You were already under Hydaelyn’s protection, and She made quite clear to them that you had to stay alive. As to why, according to them, your parents were Champions of the Mothercrystal, and they had served Her well-enough that Her protection extended to you. And now, you are one as well. Her Champion.”

The Duskwight’s eyes widened. Suddenly, the words of the goddess came back to his ears.

_Others of thy family bore mine blessing, and carried mine light as darkness rose forth._

“She said: others of my family. She never talked about someone as close as my parents, of all things!”

Eynzahr looked at Kan-E-Senna in disbelief.

“His parents were Champions of Hydaelyn? I would have never guessed… Are you sure about it, Lady Kan-E-Senna?”

“This is what the Elementals have told me, yes. They also said that Foulques’s death and his exile were actually a part of Her plans. They didn’t know what it was, however. Only that Foulques had to die and Lyrian had to leave the Woods.”

Lyrian crossed his arms. He didn’t try to hide his anger.

“If Hydaelyn wanted to make me her champion, why couldn’t she have done so earlier, when I was still living in the Woods? What stopped her?”

Kan-E-Senna shrugged.

“I know not. The Mothercrystal moves in mysterious ways.”

“Even more mysterious than the Elementals, I see…” The Duskwight signed. “Alright, let’s drop it for now. This isn’t what I’m here for.”

He went to the Elder and gave her the letter. Kan-E-Senna read it and nodded.

“I see. The Admiral had a good idea. This memorial service will do great in rekindling the spirits of our people.” The woman breathed. “Five years already… And yet, I remember it as if it was yesterday. Such horror reminds me why we Gridanians long for peace, and why the Empire must be stopped.”

Lyrian strongly nodded.

“Twice they try to invade us, twice they end up triggering a disaster they can’t control. And we’re the ones to pick up the pieces every time. If they keep going, they will ruin Eorzea so badly all they’ll rule over is a wasteland…”

“What frightens me is that this may actually be true.” Eynzahr shuddered.

“This is indeed an accurate statement given the past events.” Kan-E-Senna crossed her arms.

Lyrian’s lips thinned.

“General Aldynn also told us he had trouble with one of his pets, a Black Wolf. He will need your help tightening his leash.”

The Elder quietly nodded.

“Gaius is on the move. Even better that the Admiral sent those letters now. The memorial service will help prepare our people against the incoming storm. I pray it will not be as bad as last time, but this is all I can do. I am loath to relive the events of Carteneau.”

“Anyone sane of mind would agree.” Eynzahr nodded.

“Indeed. If only the Warriors of Light were with us…”

“But they’re not.” Lyrian shook his head. “The mysterious adventurers who saved us from Nael and fought during Carteneau have vanished from the world and from our minds, leaving behind naught but silhouettes cloaked in light. We’ll have to use our own strength if we want to win, this time.”

To his surprise, Kan-E-Senna smiled.

“Maybe, and maybe not only. You are not the only one the Mothercrystal chose as Her Champion. I know of at least two who carry a Crystal of Light as you do.”

She looked at his hand expectantly. It took Lyrian a moment to understand she wanted to see his. Opening his hand, he focused. The dark blue gem appeared, floating above his palm.

“I see. The Water Crystal. The people I know bear the Wind and Ice Crystal.”

“Water, Wind and Ice…” Lyrian muttered. “I remember. In my vision, there was a hexagram with slots at the ends. I’m getting there are six Crystals to find, each fitting an element.”

Kan-E-Senna took a parchment she put on the table. Lyrian was surprised to find the hexagram he had seen, drawn to the slightest detail.

“It was made by Khei’to, the bearer of the Wind Crystal.”

“That’s the same one I saw.”

“I guessed as much. The bearer of the Ice Crystal, Emeraude, described a similar figure. I guess this is how you find crystals to improve the Blessing.”

“The Blessing?”

“The Blessing of the Light, also known as the Echo. The Gift of Hydaelyn, bestowed to Her Champions.” She looked at Lyrian. “You are not the Warriors of the Light, but you were blessed by the Mothercrystal Herself, and this as times grow restless. I may be over-thinking, but I do not believe it to be a coincidence.”

Lyrian frowned and looked away.

“All I want is a peaceful life. Why do I have to be dragged in that kind of mess?”

“You were chosen by Hydaelyn. Until you have fulfilled your duty, do expect to find yourself cast into hazardous situations.”

“And I was chosen because my parents were. Dang.”

He sighed, quietly resigning himself to the fact the next days would be eventful. Kan-E-Senna closed her eyes and brought a hand to her ear.

“The Elementals tell me Emeraude and Khei’to are in trouble at Tam-Tara Deepcroft. They wish you came to their help in order to meet your kindred.”

Lyrian considered his options.

“I am of a half-mind to tell them to shove it and depart right to Limsa Lominsa, just to snub them. On the other hand, if I leave, I’ll have their deaths on my conscience, and I guess Hydaelyn won’t be happy with me abandoning fellow Champions…. Guess I’ll go. Don’t worry, I know the way.” He turned to Eynzahr. “Can you go back without me? I don’t know when I’ll return to Limsa.”

“Of course.” The Roegadyn smiled. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Lyrian left the Lotus Stand and headed due south. Tam-Tara Deepcroft was an ancient burial place dating back to Gelmorra. As he learned on the way, the place had been invaded by members of the Lamb of Dalamud who used it for their dark rituals. The Seedseer Council had sent one of their men here, a Keeper of the Moon Miqo’te and one of the very, very few non-Padjals to have become a White Mage. Accompanying him and to ensure his security was a woman, apparently of mixed Hyur-Elezen blood. No one knew where she came from, though many suspected Ishgard. The woman was a Dark Knight and wielder of dark powers, yet nonetheless chosen as a champion by Hydaelyn.

Lyrian reached the deepcroft and dived in, bow at the ready. He passed a few chambers and found several dead zombies, and at least one human body clad in red robes. He had passed Greenwood Altar and was heading further ahead when noise in a side room caught his attention.

<> <> <>

Emeraude planted her sword in the ground and closed her eyes. She could feel the dark magic throbbing in her, fueled by her pain and fierce desire to protect. A forcefield of red and black arose, surrounding her and her group. They were four: she, Khei’to and the couple of adventurers they had met at the deepcroft’s entrance, Shira and Kiyohime. Shira was an archmage in-training who knew thaumaturgy, conjury and arcanima, while Kiyohime was training to be a warmaster and knew at least five different weapons, among which were the fists, the spear, the bow and her strange eastern sword she called katana.

Things had started well. Shira and Kiyohime really knew their trade, Shira calling upon his devastating thaumaturgy to freeze, zap or incinerate the undead and insects they met on the way while Kiyohime freely switched between weapons to better adapt the situation. This went along well with Emeraude, whose skills were of more defensive purpose, and Khei’to’s curative white magic.

Then, as they were cleaning a side room, they had been caught by surprise by a huge horde of zombies, probably called by the cultists to get rid of the meddlers after they interrupted one of their rituals. Shira and Kiyohime had lost no time unleashing their skills upon the horde, the mage’s Fira taking two or three zombies at once while Kiyohime’s exotic swordsmanship sliced them to ribbons. But even the mightiest fell to sheer number.

She turned to her companions.

“I can hold the shield for nearly an hour. Will it be enough to restore your mana?”

Khei’to nodded and winced. All that healing had drained him dry and forced Shira to take over as the healer. However, it was clear he was less skilled than the Miqo’te and had trouble healing both Emeraude and Kiyohime. The Dark Knight had decided to raise her barrier to give them time to recover. She held fast, confident in the strength of her spell. The barrier could tank attacks from Voidsents, it could hold against the small dozen of zombies remaining.

To her surprise, two zombies fell from arrows in the head. A dark blur jumped above the group, throwing two knives that lodged themselves in the undead’s chests before landing in front of the group. It was a man, obviously an Elezen, carrying a pristine harp-like bow and clad in garish white, blue and red garments. The Elezen drew two steel daggers and lunged. One zombie fell with its throat open while the other dagger tore through the rusted mail and eviscerated another before flying and embedding itself in an undead forehead. The Elezen, whose ashen skin told Emeraude he was a Duskwight, dodged the lunge of a spear-wielding zombie and kicked its leg. It jerked back and found itself with a dagger in the head. Then the Duskwight took his bow and fired an arrow up. A deluge of blood red arrows fell from nowhere and felled the remaining undead. The Duskwight retrieved his daggers and turned to the group.

“Are you alright?”

Emeraude took the time to check if all the zombies were dead before dropping the barrier.

“We are. Most of us are just winded.”

Lyrian looked at the group. Kan-E-Senna had mentioned a White Mage and a Dark Knight, but not an arcanist and a pugilist.

The Dark Knight, as her short pointy ears testified, was indeed Hyur-Elezen. She had grayish blue eyes and a youthful freckled face, as well as mid-back curly red hair. She was wearing not the black and red armor he expected from her kind, but a dark blue and silver scale mail that revealed a rather frail build. The sword in her back was also shorter than the other broadswords he had seen, being barely the size of its owner’s and thinner of blade.

Behind her, the White Mage was dusting his robes. He was indeed a Keeper of the Moon, with neck-long cherry pink hair and, surprisingly enough, heterochromatic eyes. The left one was dark blue while the right one was emerald green. By the face alone, he seemed even younger than the Dark Knight and was wearing the classical white robes with red triangles that were specific to White Mages. His scepter was long and bloomed into a lily while his tail swung freely behind him, long and bushy.

Lyrian’s eyes stopped on the arcanist. The moment he saw the scales and horns, he remembered Kiyoko. Was the man an Au Ra as well? He had long black hairs with white strands, tied in a braid in his back. His horns were triangular and pointing straight downward while the scales on his face formed a kind of short beard. A line of scales crossed the bridge of his nose. His glasses fell right on it. His slanting eyes were a purple shade very close to his own and he was wearing a soft green longcoat over white clothes, cut behind to let his long, thin tail fall. Finally, there were two different staves in his back and a grimoire on his hips.

The last member of the group was a Lalafell, apparently a Dunesfolk given her light pink pupil-less eyes. She was wearing the light armor classical to novice adventurers specializing in the Disciplines of War and her hairs were black, held in a ponytail in the back while two long strands framed her face, which looked quite maidenly. A proper lady, one would say, who happened to be carrying an eastern sword, a pair of cesti, a spear and a short bow.

‘ _A Warmaiden._ ’ Lyrian thought.

Emeraude smiled.

“Thank you for our help. Khei’to had run out of mana and we were waiting for him to recover. Your coming was on point.”

“Glad I could help.” Lyrian smiled back. “I heard you had run into trouble in the deepcroft and I was asked to see how you were doing.”

The woman glanced at the group.

“I guess introductions are in order. I am Emeraude de Fortemps, Dark Knight. I came here along with Khei’to to see what kind of trouble the cultists were brewing.” She turned to the Miqo’te. “Khei’to Elakha is my friend and, on this mission, my partner. He is a White Mage, and as nice as he looks. Don’t expect him to say much, though: he is mute.”

Lyrian gave her a weird look. The Miqo’te whistled and showed a scar on his throat. The Duskwight understood. The wound had probably cut his vocal cords. The Au Ra bowed in greeting.

“I am Shira Kaburagi, archmage in-training, and this is my sister, Kiyohime. She trains to be a warmaster.”

Lyrian looked at the pair in disbelief.

“You two are…”

“Kiyohime is adopted.” Shira explained. “Her parents’ ship was caught in a storm and she was the sole survivor. She was but a newborn at the time. My family found her and raised her as our own. I was three.”

“We heard the Lamb of Dalamud had invaded the place and sought to clear it.” Kiyohime explained, her voice soft. “These people worship the fallen moon, Bahamut’s prison. They represent a threat and we believed we would do Gridania a favor by getting rid of it. We didn’t expect they would send someone to deal with the problem.”

“Since we had the same goal, we decided to team up.” Emeraude continued. “We were doing fine until those zombies ambushed us. So, who are you?”

“Lyrian Sombréclipse, Bard and rogue in-training. The Elementals informed Kan-E-Senna that you were in trouble and, since I was there to deliver mail and I happened to be a good fighter, she sent me. Good to see you’re fine.”

Khei’to grinned from ear to ear and bowed as a thanks. Lyrian nodded.

“You’re welcome.”

Kiyohime walked to him.

“Would you like to accompany us? The cultists still plague this place, and our mission is far from over. Another fighter would be of great help.”

She turned to Emeraude who nodded. By virtue of being the one protecting them, the woman seemed to be in command.

“Well, I was sent here to make sure you were safe.” Lyrian shrugged. “Best to tag along until you’re done cleaning the deepcroft.”

“Then welcome in our small team.”

The group dived further into the deepcroft. They didn’t work like a well-oiled machine, but each had their role and they knew it. The creatures didn’t last long. Finally, they fell on a barrier. Shira frowned.

“A classical Dark Barrier. The only way to get past is to kill the one generating it or use an item to dispel it.”

Emeraude took a small crystal, a black gem with a stylized claymore or a torch drawn on it. Lyrian recognized it as a Soulstone. The woman waved it in the air. Eventually, the gem shone brightly toward a corridor.

“This way.”

Lyrian gave her a puzzled look. Emeraude explained.

“The Dark Knight Soulstone can sense darkness in and out of people. I use it to detect darkness and the power of the void. There are threads of darkness connecting the barrier to someone – or something – at the end of this corridor.”

The Bard nodded. This was an interesting use of a Soulstone. He himself had one, a green gem with a harp. The Bard Soulstone, given to him by Jehantel. At the end of the corridor, they found a rosary and more zombies that they swiftly dispatched. Somehow, the undead really didn’t like fire and Shira abused the weakness with glee.

The last zombie felled, the forcefield protecting the rosary faded. Emeraude turned to Shira.

“A person or an artifact. Looks like you were right.”

She took the rosary and returned to the barrier that disappeared the moment the artifact touched it. She had to raise her shield the next second to parry the onslaught of Blizzard from the imps. Lyrian notched three arrows and fired them consecutively. Shira’s Fire caught the last one. Kiyohime turned to the cultist in red but, to her surprise, Khei’to stopped her. The Miqo’te looked furious, his ears flat on his head and his teeth bared. He was hissing a storm, the only way for him to voice his anger. The cultist had a similar reaction because he raised his wand.

“Khei’to Elakha! Of all the people, you are the one they sent. Of course, I should’ve guessed.”

He threw a Thunder spell Khei’to ducked to avoid. The Miqo’te charged Stone.

“I see you recognized me.” The cultist smirked. “Still mad I turned your mother into a coat? It was hard, I admit. Not much fur to – URG!”

Khei’to hadn’t let him finish. His Stone spell had found its way to the cultist’s stomach and knocked him into the abyss. He dusted his hands and turned to see a Voidsent appear. The demon had just recovered from being summoned that he took a Wind spell in the face. Emeraude walked next to her partner.

“Thank you. I will take over if you don’t mind.”

Khei’to nodded and passed a finger on his throat. Emeraude smirked.

“This comes without saying.”

Her claymore met the Voidsent’s scythe with a _clank_. The moment the creature pushed her back, she rewarded it with a dark sphere in the stomach. Shira followed with several Ruins that threw it off-balance and were chained by a series of energy arrows from Lyrian. Kiyohime finished the demon with a clean slice of her katana. The Voidsent dead, Shira and Kiyohime touched the glowing orbs to cancel their power. A stone path rose, connecting the altars to the central platform as the glowing purple sphere landed on it. It burst, revealing a huge soulflayer. Khei’to took one solid look at it before politely bowing to his partner and showing the way. Emeraude nodded.

“Indeed, this is a task for me.”

“How so?” Shira asked.

“Because killing Voidsent has been my specialty ever since my wedding.”

The smile on her face was dangerous. She walked unflinchingly as the demon spoke.

“Who summons me from the void to reside within this crude vessel?”

“The people we killed.” Kiyohime quietly answered. “And you are next on the list, _fiend_.”

The soulflayer threw a water sphere at them. It bounced harmlessly on Emeraude’s shield. The Dark Knight took her sword and ran at the Voidsent, her claymore cloaked in purplish flames. The sword met the Voidsent’s wand before an arrow lodged itself in its eye. The soulflayer reared and charged an attack.

“Step back!” Shira called.

Emeraude and Kiyohime jumped away as lightning filled the air. When Kiyohime charged with her katana, she found the blade bouncing on an invisible shield. Lyrian noticed a purple beam going from the Voidsent to an imp. It took him two arrows to bring it down. The moment it was, the soulflayer became vulnerable again.

“I see.” Shira nodded. “Those imps make it invulnerable. I’ll know where to cast my spells the next time they appear…”

“Guys, reinforcement!” Emeraude called.

The two men looked to see mitelings and skeletons appear on the platform.

“On it.” Lyrian called. “My arrows are more efficient against smaller targets than this guy.”

So, while Shira and Kiyohime focused on the fiend, the bard shot down the bugs and used well-aimed arrows to behead the skeletons. They fell into piles of bones on the ground. Kiyohime smiled.

“This is one way to do it.”

“The only way when you got a bow.” Lyrian frowned. “Go for the head. In fact, going for the head works with pretty much everything.”

Imps appeared. As soon summoned, as soon gone courtesy of him. The rest of the team was free to focus on the soulflayer, which fell under the assaults of Emeraude and the Doman siblings.

“And done.” Shira smiled. “I guess this takes care of things.”

Khei’to nodded. Emeraude dusted her hands and turned to him.

“The deepcroft is clean. We have done our duty. Time to return to Gridania and report to E-Sumi-Yan.”

“We will report to Mother Miounne at the Carline Canopy.” Kiyohime cleaned her blade. “She is the one who suggested we visit the deepcroft.”

Shira turned to Lyrian.

“What about you?”

Lyrian hesitated before extending a hand. The dark blue crystal appeared. The moment it did, all four members of the group felt a pull in their chest. Before their eyes, crystals appeared. Emeraude’s was pale blue, Khei’to’s was green, Kiyohime has an orange one and Shira’s crystal was red.

“This is why I was sent.” Lyrian explained. “I thought I was the only one to have a Crystal of Light. Elder Kan-E-Senna corrected me and told me of two persons she knew who were chosen as well.” He looked at Khei’to and Emeraude. “The Elementals warned her you were in trouble and instructed her to send me so I could meet you. I guess Kan-E-Senna will want to meet you as well, if she hasn’t already.”

“We met her before.” Emeraude answered before turning to Shira and Kiyohime. “But you haven’t. You should come with us once we are in Gridania. The Elder will be interested.”

Khei’to looked at the siblings, pointed at the crystals, then at them and tilted his head. Shira and Kiyohime looked at one another, puzzled. It took Emeraude a moment to understand.

“I think he is asking if you know what these are.”

“…Not really.” Shira answered. “We found it at different times. Kiyohime found hers first, when our carriage was attacked by Amalj’aa on the way to Gridania and she stayed with the Brass Blades to hold them off. I found mine after slaying a group of anole that was threatening some lancers. After that, we saw a hexagram and talked with a giant crystal, but we both believed it was just a lucid dream, or a minor hallucination born of exhaustion.”

Lyrian looked at the pair.

“You aren’t native of Eorzea, are you? It’s alright you didn’t understand, then. Long story short, it was _not_ a dream. All you saw was _very_ real, and you actually had the privilege of meeting face to face with the highest deity we Eorzeans worship: Hydaelyn, the Mothercrystal.” He turned to Emeraude. “But we should leave this place before discussing any further. Those damp tunnels aren’t the best place to talk about something so important.”

Everyone agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, the other Warriors of Hydaelyn are introduced. To differenciate them from the Warriors of Light, the Chosen who were at Carteneau, they will be referenced to as the Champions of Hydaelyn or the Defenders of the Realm. The Warriors of Light are the previous generation.
> 
> Some information regarding the group...
> 
> Lyrian Sombréclipse: Duskwight Elezen, 19, Bard/Rogue-Ninja, origin unknown. Amnesiac. Possesses some strange and very powerful land-bending magic. Has the Water Crystal.
> 
> Emeraude de Fortemps, born de Ferbriant: Midlander Hyur/Wildwood Elezen hybrid, 21, Dark Knight, Ishgardian. Married to Artoirel de Fortemps. The wedding went... somewhat South. Has the Ice Crystal.
> 
> Khei'to Elakha: Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te, 18, White Mage, Gridanian. Lost his voice, his father and several siblings during the Calamity. May be keen on Emeraude. Has the Wind Crystal.
> 
> Shira Kaburagi: Raen Au Ra, 24, Archmage, Doman. Widowed. Lost his wife to the Garleans and will kill them on sight as revenge. Has the Fire Crystal.
> 
> Kiyohime Kaburagi: Dunesfolk Lalafell, 21, Warmaster (Warmaiden), Uldan-born but Doman-raised. Your archetypal Doman housewife. Her husband is of mixed Dunesfolk/Raen origins. Has the Earth Crystal.


	7. Hydaelyn's Chosen

The five combatants returned to Gridania and walked straight to the Lotus Stand. Kan-E-Senna was waiting for them, E-Sumi-Yan and her guards at her side.

“The Elementals informed us of your victory. Thank you.”

Khei’to bowed deeply while Emeraude smiled.

“We did our duty, as we were asked. And it is good that you let me come along because the Lambs had managed to call a soulflayer. Worry not, the fiend lies dead.”

E-Sumi-Yan crossed his arms and looked at Shira and Kiyohime.

“The Elementals also said five of the Mother’s Champions had gathered. I get it these two bear a crystal as well.”

Khei’to turned to Lyrian. E-Sumi-Yan shook his head.

“Kan-E-Senna already informed me Lyrian had a Crystal. I admit, it came as a surprise. For one guilty of his crime to be chosen…”

Kan-E-Senna’s face darkened.

“Actually, Lyrian leaving the Twelveswood was necessary for him to obtain his Crystal. There was… something in the Woods that held a part of himself back, and Hydaelyn needed said part free before she could Choose him.”

Lyrian frowned.

“It must be my magic, then. The Elementals threaten me with Woodsin anytime I try to use it in the Woods. I don’t have such restriction in Thanalan and La Noscea.”

E-Sumi-Yan’s eyes widened.

“Of course! Apologies, I keep forgetting about your magic. Naturally, the Elementals would not be keen on a magic that takes control of their domain to manipulate it. So, your exile was necessary to Hydaelyn’s plans. Seeing things under this light explains a lot of things, and I feel sorry for the hardships you had to endure. Especially…”

“You don’t have to say his name.” Lyrian shook his head. “I’d like if you didn’t”

“It still hurt, doesn’t it?”

The Duskwight nodded. Shira looked at him.

“What happened?”

Khei’to explained with gestures. He pointed to Lyrian, then to E-Sumi-Yan and slapped the air hard. He then circled E-Sumi-Yan and Kan-E-Senna, showed Lyrian and made a sharp ‘get out’ gesture. Kiyohime nodded.

“I understand.”

“This is the short story.” Kan-E-Senna agreed. “And one I am loath to dwell on. We are taking steps so it doesn’t repeat. Now, may I ask for your names?”

Shira and Kiyohime looked at one another.

“Shira and Kiyohime Kaburagi. We come from Namai, a small village in Yanxia. We were forced to flee along some of our friends after an incident with the Garleans.”

“My husband, Aomaru, knew from his father that the land of Eorzea remained unbowed to Garlean dominion.” Kiyohime explained. “We decided to find haven there. Two of our friends remained in Limsa Lominsa, two settled in Ul’Dah while my brother and I decided to further our knowledge in Magic and War. My love being a healer by trade, we headed to Gridania where the masters of healing magic were found.”

E-Sumi-Yan nodded.

“Aomaru… I heard of this name. He joined the Conjurers some time ago and has proved an amazing healer. However, I found him reluctant to hurt a living being, so his mastery of the offensive side of Conjury is lacking.”

Kiyohime’s eyes softened.

“My love made the vow to never hurt a living being, and thus leaves the fighting to me when he can afford. However…” A smirk crossed her face. “His vow does say _living_. Machines, undead and other kinds of construct needn’t apply.”

E-Sumi-Yan nodded.

“This is indeed a loophole to abuse. Now, I am not one to ask for personal question, but your husband has a peculiar look for a Lalafell. Now I see your brother, I notice their scales look similar.”

To everyone’s surprise, Kiyohime chuckled.

“This is because my love is of mixed blood, like lady Emeraude. His father is Lalafellin while his mother is an Ao Ra from the underwater city of Sui-no-Sato. This is why he has scales despite otherwise looking like a Lalafell.”

“An Au Ra-Lalafell hybrid. I understand. Interesting. So Au Ra is the race of your brother.”

“Yes. The white-scaled ones are Raen while the dark-scaled ones are Xaela.”

Shira turned to Lyrian.

“Speaking of which, I noticed my appearance didn’t startle you. Have you met some of my kind before?”

“Yes, in Limsa Lominsa.” Lyrian nodded. “There was a woman called Kiyoko that was working with the rogues…”

“Kiyoko?” Shira’s face lit up. “Was there a man with her? A Hyur called Yui.”

“Yes.”

Shira couldn’t hold his laugh.

“Azim, can the world be small! Yui and Kiyoko are the first couple of friends we fled with. When they heard the rogues were knife users, they decided to join. Are they doing fine?”

“Yes. Kiyoko showed me some techniques to go unnoticed and helped me recover parts of my memories. Your friends aren’t just rogues, right? They called themselves ninja.”

“True. Yui and Kiyoko trained in the arts of Ninjutsu and were quite skilled at their craft… Is it me or did you say parts of your memories were missing?”

“Lyrian’s memories are indeed missing.” Kan-E-Senna explained. “Five years ago, Jehantel the Godbow found him at death’s doors, his body lying in its blood and his mind shattered. By a miracle, he survived, but all he could remember was his name and his age. All the rest, we believed lost until the memories began trickling back a few months later. First the voice of a mother, then a lesson in wielding water… Now, most of them have returned but the most crucial remain unfound. This has caused him no end of grief.”

“Kiyoko helped me remember something about my family.” Lyrian explained. “My grandmother was a ninja and had begun teaching me her craft before the Calamity. This explains my skills with knives.”

“So, another piece returned. A good new, this is.”

Shira nodded and held a hand. The red crystal appeared.

“Now, about those crystals…”

“Right, this is indeed the main subject there.”

They gathered around the table. There were documents on it, among which Lyrian recognized the drawing of the hexagram the Elder Seedseer had showed him. Kan-E-Senna looked at the group. An amnesiac Duskwight Bard, a mute Miqo’te White Mage, a half-bred Dark Knight of noble birth, if the last name Fortemps was to be believed, and a pair of foster siblings from Doma, one Au Ra and the other Lalafell, archmage and warmaster in-training. A strange crew if there ever was one.

And Hydaelyn had chosen them as their Champions. The Mothercrystal truly worked in mysterious ways.

“First thing first, since Shira and Kiyohime are not Eorzean of birth and know not about the Mothercrystal, I believe it wiser that to instruct them on this point.”

Everyone agreed. Hydaelyn was, after all, the origin of their crystals. Before understanding their nature, they had to know who was the deity that had chosen them.

“Hydaelyn, also known as the Great Cystal, the Allmother or the Mothercrystal, is the highest deity worshiped by Eorzeans. We see her as the origin of all life, the Goddess of Light. A gigantic crystal resting at the core of the Sea of Stars.”

“She is your creator god.” Shira summed up. “Pretty much like Azim and Nhaama are to us Ao Ra.”

Kan-E-Senna nodded.

“It is said that, in time of crisis, Hydaelyn chooses people she blesses with her powers, champions hand-picked to defend the Realm. Those Champions possess powers beyond the ken of mortals.”

“The Echo.” Lyrian understood.

“Exactly.”

“And yet, we aren’t Eorzean.” Shira noted. “Maybe Kiyohime counts by virtue of her parents coming from Ul’Dah, but I am Doman born and raised.”

Lyrian thought for a moment.

“You and your friends were on the run from Garleans, right? I think Yui mentioned it. Anyway, Gaius van Baelsar is on the move. You may not be Eorzean, but Garlemald is an enemy we have in common. Besides, as Kan-E-Senna said, the Mother works in mysterious ways. Good luck guessing what’s going through her mind…”

“Your explanation sounds valid.” Kiyohime hummed. “We have a grudge against Garlemald.”

“And defending the Realm involves fending them off.” Emeraude said quietly. “But I got the feeling the Garleans are not the only threat looming over us. If it was just an invading country, Hydaelyn would have let the nations of Eorzea band and push them off like it happened twenty years ago. No, I have the gut feeling there is something more dangerous than the Garleans lurking around…”

“Of this, I can give no answer, but there is an organization who believes you’re right. They are the ones who gave us most of our information about Hydaelyn and the Crystals after Khei’to received his.”

Lyrian hummed.

“Interesting. I wouldn’t mind learning more about the Echo – what it does, how to use it.”

“My mentors back in Ishgard have also been looking for information.” Emeraude added. “Alas, the Scholasticate’s library has yielded very little and Father Bruvagnon is reluctant to search the Vault. I am a Dark Knight, after all. My kind is… most often seen as vigilantes by the clergy, and no one has forgotten the Dark Wedding of the Fortemps.”

Khei’to tilted his head, puzzled. Emeraude looked at him.

“What is intriguing you?”

The Miqo’te took a piece of slate and chalk from his satchel and wrote.

_You don’t behave like a vigilante._

Emeraude smiled.

“Indeed. I received a different formation than that of regular Dark Knights. It was Father Bruvagnon and Headmistress Elviane who taught me dark magic. I know, it is unexpected to say the least, that clergymen would teach dark magic instead of forbidding it. But…” The woman hesitated. “I was going through harsh times and, incredible as it may, learning the Dark Arts had a therapeutic effect. I learned swordsmanship later, from Master Cross. After he heard a member of the nobility was training in the arts of dark magic, he inquired about our endeavors and decided to complete my formation with martial training so I could become a full-fledged Dark Knight. This is why I don’t act as a vigilante: Dark Knights in Ishgard hunt the Templars and clergymen above the reach of law, but it was clergymen who taught me, and this with the perspective not to punish but to protect, hence why my skills are more of the defensive kind despite their unholy origins.”

Kan-E-Senna nodded in understanding, a kind smile on her face.

“This is proof that darkness can be a force of good as much as a force of evil. Indeed, with few exceptions, magic itself is neither good nor evil. It is the caster’s heart that is. After all, White Magic focuses on healing and light, yet the War of the Magi only took a turn for the worse when the White Mages of Amdapor joined the fight.”

Emeraude looked at the many documents over the table.

“I would appreciate if you could send at least some of these to Saint Endalim Scholasticate. This would help Father Bruvagnon greatly.”

“Of course.” E-Sumi-Yan nodded. “We shall discuss which ones.”

The Dark Knight breathed in relief. Kiyohime looked at the Seedseers.

“So, what does the Echo do?”

“It is hard to say.” Kan-E-Senna shook her head. “To what the Scions told me, the powers tend to vary from Champion to Champion, but they mentioned three recurring ones. The first is the power to understand any language regardless of origin. The second allows one to see the memories of a person they come across.”

“Uh, I’ve seen that one.” Lyrian said.

“Really?”

“Yes. It happened after I defeated a golem with a coworker. I saw the memories of the conjurer that had joined us, Y’shtola. I could only tell it was her memories because one of them had Dalamud still in the sky. When the vision ended, I wondered what it was and my coworker asked if I was hallucinating. Y’shtola explained that, no, I wasn’t going insane. It was just a manifestation of the Mothercrystal’s blessing.”

The other four Champions looked at one another. Emeraude nodded.

“I have seen a similar vision when I met Yda and Papalymo. Khei’to saw it too.”

Shira and Kiyohime shook their head.

“We saw nothing of the sort. None of us displayed any kind of supernatural power after obtaining our –”

He was cut short by a sudden flash. Kiyohime gasped as well. The remaining members watched them.

“So, this is how it happens.” E-Sumi-Yan raised a brow. “I wonder what they are seeing.”

No one answered. The Doman siblings were too busy witnessing a wedding go very, _very_ wrong…

_They were in a cathedral. Many people had gathered, all from the nobility and clergy. At the front row on the right was a couple, the man Hyur and the woman Elezen. Both had red hair and the woman harbored a strong likeness to Emeraude. Her parents. On the left was a family of Elezen, a father, his son and his manservant, along with a silver-haired man with a hooked nose and surprisingly muscular build for an Elezen. In the back was a man clad in black and dark blue armor who was carrying a jagged zweihander._

_Two people walked the aisle, one a black-haired Elezen and the other…_

“Emeraude!?”

With her hair done and her flowing wedding gown, the woman was barely recognizable.

Shira remembered her mentioning killing Voidsent since her wedding while also speaking of a “Dark Wedding of the Fortemps”. When the pair reached the altar and the priest spoke, he understood.

_Emeraude frowned as she sensed her Soulstone react to her parents’ presence. She had always made a point to keep anything related to being a Dark Knight hidden from them. As a result, neither Johan nor Angeline de Ferbriant knew their daughter had mastered the Dark Arts, and she had kept her gear and Soulstone away from them, hidden not at home but in the safety of the Scholasticate. This was the first time she brought the gem around them, and she knew as a fact it reacted to strong darkness…_

_She closed her eyes and focused on the now. The ceremony went on smoothly and she and Artoirel exchanged their vows. They were married now, for better or worse, through pain and succor, happiness and sorrow. It was an arranged marriage, but they were on good enough term not to care. At last they kissed, and the whole crowd cheered. A smile on their face, the two walked back the aisle…_

_The Soulstone suddenly shone brightly, right as they passed by Emeraude’s parents. Johan and Angeline cried in pain as darkness rose from their chest –_ their heart! _Under the crowd’s bewildered eyes, the bride’s parents turned into Voidsent._

_The man in dark armor frowned._

_“A Dark Knight’s Soulstone reacts to darkness in and out of people. In rare occasions, it will pull it forth, bringing a man’s evil heart on the outside and turning it into a fiend. I always considered it might happen to her parents… but the timing really sucks! Emeraude!”_

_Emeraude was standing between Artoirel and her parent. Her mother was now a succubus clutching a thaumaturge’s staff. At her side, Johan had become a Black Knight with black wings and black armor. Darkness coursed through the bride, ready to burst the moment they made a move. The armored man ran at her, a claymore in hand._

_“Emeraude, catch!”_

_The woman turned and nimbly caught the weapon as her father charged. She blocked the blow and kicked him in the leg to force him back._

_“Thanks, Cross!”_

_The man gave her a smile._

_“Don’t hold back girl. These aren’t your parents anymore.”_

So, the man was Emeraude’s sword-master, Shira and Kiyohime understood. He was a bald Highlander with eyes the color of ice, a square jaw and black tattoos on his scalp.

_Emeraude pushed Artoirel out of the way of a fireball cast by her mother._

_“Go with your father. I’ll handle these two!”_

_Artoirel cursed and looked at the crowd in search of a weapon. Emeraude shoved him as hard as she could._

_“These are my parents. I must be the one to fell them.”_

_“No! You are not fighting alone!”_

_There was fear and anguish in the Elezen’s voice. Emeraude planted her sword in the ground and a red-black forcefield surrounded her and her parents, cutting them from the rest of the room._

_“My fault to make, my fault to correct. Seven Hells, I knew they were abusive, but that much…!”_

_“I had my doubts.” Cross snorted. “Their upbringing numbed you emotionally for ten years. Only monsters put their children through this.”_

_Emeraude bit her lip._

_“I never wanted it to happen…”_

_“But it did, and now we must face the consequences. Don’t hold back, little girl. One side is not leaving this place alive.”_

_The bride closed her eyes._

_“I’m sorry…”_

_And she fought. With magic and steel, she fought her transformed parents, Cross watching with increasing pride as she used her momentum to block her father’s sword and, in the same move, shifted her weight to deliver a brutal kick in his stomach. The Black Knight crashed against the forcefield. Pikes of solid darkness dented his armor, much to the anger of the succubus. She cast a fireball that was caught by a dark sphere. Emeraude suddenly lunged and, with a nimble thrust, tore her mother’s stomach. The succubus fell with an agonizing scream._

_Emeraude took her breath, only to jump aside as her father rushed with an unholy scream of sheer fury. The bride’s reaction was pure instinct. Raising her sword high, she used the opportunity – her father had crashed against her mother’s body – and brought it down as hard as she could. The blow beheaded him._

_The Voidsent dead, the forcefield dissipated. Emeraude held her sword and panted. She was exhausted. Then something caught her eyes. She turned to see an ice-blue crystal lying on the pavement. Curiosity took over and she took it, turning to call Cross and Father Bruvagnon… Something flashed in her mind and she fell unconscious, right in Artoirel’s arms. The Elezen held her tight._

_Behind them, the succubus and Black Knight faded into mist, leaving behind but a ring and a bracelet._

The vision ended and Shira and Kiyohime found themselves in the Lotus Stand. Lyrian crossed his arms.

“What did Y’shtola say, already? The visions are random in person and what is seen.”

“This is what Papalymo told us.” Emeraude nodded. “I wonder what they have seen…”

She got her answer as Shira turned to her.

“I have known of nasty weddings but yours has to take the cake!”

Khei’to looked at Emeraude and shrugged. The Dark Knight sighed.

“Yes it was. If only I hadn’t taken my Soulstone that day, my parents wouldn’t have turned into Voidsent and ruined the wedding.”

Lyrian raised a brow.

“What happened?”

“Her Soulstone turned her parents into Voidsent on her wedding day.” Kiyohime explained. “She was forced to kill them and found her Crystal right after.”

The Duskwight cringed.

“Ouch! Sorry for your loss.”

“They didn’t even get a burial.” Emeraude laughed sadly. “The archbishop deemed them so evil Mother’s bracelet and Father’s ring were thrown in the chasm. At the same time, their heart was so dark the Soulstone transformed them. This has to count for something.”

“Is this why you left?”

Emeraude looked down.

“Yes. Only Father Bruvagnon, Headmistress Elviane, Master Cross and a few members of House Fortemps knew I was a Dark Knight. As I said, my kind is looked down for being vigilantes. They don’t care if I use my powers to protect, they will still hate me for using the Dark Arts. So, once I woke up from meeting Hydaelyn, I told Father Bruvagnon, Headmistress Elviane and Master Cross about the Crystal and the vision, took my gears and my chocobo and left Ishgard before anyone knew I was up. I haven’t seen Artoirel since that day, but we still send each other letters.”

“You’re on good terms?” Lyrian asked.

“Yes. He was one of the first persons to learn about me being a Dark Knight. He was… not very happy at first, but then I saved his life and he changed his mind. Still…” Emeraude chuckled. “I am the strongest of us two and his brothers tease him mercilessly over it. Emmanellain more than Haurchefant, though.”

Everyone chuckled.

“Same here.” Kiyohime grinned. “I am a warmaster while my love is a healer who vowed to never harm a living. Needless to say I am the strongest, and none of us mind.”

Shira smiled.

“Two ladies in the team, both married and both stronger than their partners.”

Khei’to snorted. He held a hand, summoned his crystal and pointed at the girls before flexing his muscles. Emeraude nodded.

“I guess this comes with being Champions of Hydaelyn. To defend Eorzea, we need to be powerful, hence why we are all mighty fighters in our own ways. Those of us who are married are thus stronger than our partner.”

She looked at Shira, whose lips thinned.

“…You noticed.”

“You bear it as a necklace under your shirt.”

She didn’t say more. There was something wrong with the matter and she could tell, so she waited for Shira to expend. It was Kiyohime who did. The Lalafell turned to Lyrian.

“If you met Yui and Kiyoko, they probably told you why we came to Eorzea.”

“Aside from a feud with the Garleans, I don’t know more.”

Kiyohime looked down.

“It is more than a feud. It is a deep-seated hatred for what they did to us on our wedding day. This is what my brother meant when he said he has seen his share of nasty weddings.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The Lalafell sighed.

“We saw Emeraude’s past and we know about yours. I guess ‘tis only fair we share ours.”

“It was a group wedding.” Shira said sadly. “Kiyohime and Aomaru, Yui and Kiyoko, Hayate and Akina… me and Sakura.”

“A group of Garleans from Castrum Fulminis heard about it and decided they wanted some fun. They took us brides to their base and threatened to kill everyone if we resisted. Naturally, we didn’t. They took us to their base and, well…” Kiyohime glanced at her brother. “They started with Sakura.”

No one needed to be a scholar to understand what she meant, especially with the sad face Shira was making. Emeraude patted the Au Ra’s shoulder. Shira was fighting to hold his tears.

“Yui, Aomaru, Hayate and I decided to go to their rescue. This is the only time Aomaru broke his vow. So, a few hours after they were gone, we followed and snuck in the Castrum. We just wanted to get our wives back and leave…” He glanced at Kiyohime. “We never thought they may have had the same idea.”

Kiyohime crossed her arms.

“We could hear Sakura’s screams through the walls. Those pigs took their turn defiling her. We decided we wouldn’t suffer the same fate and broke out. We met our husbands halfway and headed to the room they were abusing Sakura…”

Shira snarled.

“I wish I could forget this sight. It was… There are no words, in no language. But then one of those bastards plunged his sword in her heart! She died on the spot. They died a moment later. I spared none of them.”

“Sorry for your loss.” Lyrian said softly.

Kiyohime breathed.

“After that, we knew we could not stay in Namai. The Empire would retaliate and raze the village. Our families would have paid for our crime. So we left while leaving an obvious trail so they would track us down and, as Aomaru’s father suggested, we fled to Eorzea. Sasamaru is a trader for a huge Uldan company, so he knew the land well. He kept boasting how not even dropping Dalamud on their head had made the city-states bow, and how they had been fighting Garlemald for twenty years. We all agreed this was the safest place for us. Now, here we are.”

Kan-E-Senna nodded.

“I see. So, in a way, you and your friends are refugees.”

“We have been relying on Sasamaru for guidance until now. His knowledge of Eorzea is greater than ours by a malm. He is the one who told Yui and Kiyoko about the rogues of Limsa and guided my love to Gridania. But it is time we walked our own path.”

“Given you’re now the Champions of Hydaelyn, you will.”

A thought crossed Kiyohime’s mind. She looked at Khei’to and Lyrian and showed her ring finger.

“What about you…”

“Single.” Lyrian sighed.

Khei-to circled his ring finger and shook his head. Then he turned to Emeraude and made a dreaming face. The Dark Knight shrugged helplessly.

“I know. But I am married and I intend to remain faithful. Sorry I can’t return your feelings.”

Khei’to looked away, clearly disappointed. But his beautiful partner had made her choice and he had to respect it. He looked at Lyrian and tilted his head. The Duskwight chuckled and shook his head.

“No one on my mind either. I’m single and fine with it.”

Shira looked at the Miqo’te.

“So, what is your story? When we were in Tam-Tara, the leader of the cultists spoke as if he knew him.”

It was Kan-E-Senna who answered.

“The man you fought in Tam-Tara is known as Octavel. He is the one who killed Khei’to’s mother.”

“Guessed as much. Khei’to sent him flying in the abyss.”

E-Sumi-Yan and Kan-E-Senna looked at one another.

“Khei Elakha was a fearsome archer and member of the God’s Quiver. Her husband, Rajh’a, was Sergeant of the Twin Adder. Alas, he was at Carteneau…”

“He never returned.” E-Sumi-Yan sighed. “And when the Calamity struck, it took away Khei’a and two of Khei’s daughters. When she heard a cult had appeared that worshipped Dalamud, she hunted them as revenge for losing her husband and children. She killed so much of them they decided to murder her and lured her in an ambush. She died, but the Lambs still paid dearly for it: most didn’t survive the encounter.”

“Khei’to was entrusted to us young, having manifested talents in the healing arts at only three. Over the years, he proved to be surprisingly skilled at Conjury for a Miqo’te, to the point some joked his father was a Padjal. This is, of course, untrue. But it doesn’t change the fact that, after losing his voice during the Calamity, he stumbled upon a White Mage Soulstone that reacted to his power. I trusted my siblings, Raya-O and A-Ruhn to train him in our arts. Now, there he is, the only non-Padjali White Mage to have appeared this Era. Last Era saw the appearance of five.”

Shira nodded.

“What of his sisters?”

Khei’to smiled proudly. E-Sumi-Yan answered.

“The twins Runah and Lunah have signed as lancer and archer respectively. As for Ehli, she joined the Twin Adders and is currently one of our most promising cadets. She should be promoted to Caporal by the end of the month.”

“All in all, a powerful family.”

“Indeed.”

Lyrian reclined in his seat.

“So, now, we know each other. And from what happened in Tam-Tara, we can become a pretty good team given enough time.”

“Khei’to’s healing magic goes along well with Emeraude’s defensive fighting style while Shira and Kiyohime are versatile fighters who, as siblings, fight naturally well together. Then there’s you, who can switch between long and short range and, unless you fight in the Twelveswood, can use a form of magic unique to you and quite devastating, if only really exhausting.”

Emeraude turned to Lyrian.

“Really? What can it do?”

“Let me take control of the sea, land and sky and sic it on my opponents. In Seasong Grotto, I created pikes and a stone fist from the cave’s walls and used it to kill a goobbue.”

Shira smiled brightly.

“I need to see that.”

“If we’re fated to defend the Realm together, this is bound to happen.”

Kan-E-Senna nodded.

“You are the Champions of Hydaelyn, five warriors chosen by the Mothercrystal to defend Eorzea in its time of need. There is an organization located in Vesper Bay whose goals are similar to yours. I can only advise that you find them. Their guidance should help you walk the Mother’s path.”

Lyrian nodded thoughtfully.

“What’s their name?”

“The Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Backstory: the chapter. At least, Lyrian aside (and even then...), we know where the Chosen of Hydaelyn come from. Also, yes, Shira and Kiyohime's backstory draws heavily from the City Elf origin from the first Dragon Age.


	8. Far horizons and close

The five Champions left the Lotus Stand.

“So, Vesper Bay, to find the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.” Shira summed up. “If they can tell us more about who we are and what we can do, I’m up for it.”

“Kan-E-Senna and E-Sumi-Yan already told us a lot.” Emeraude remarked. “We are the Champions of Hydaelyn, blessed with her powers to protect the land of Eorzea.”

Kiyohime turned to her.

“What Brother means is that this is too little still. We know we have powers and what they are, but not how to use them. We know we must defend the Realm but not where to start, what to do to be efficient in our duty. The Scions may be able to answer that.”

Lyrian thought for a moment.

“The Adventurer’s Guild may have an inkling as well. Adventurers are people who perform tasks of various kinds in return for power, glory and riches. Many of them fought during Carteneau. Until we meet the Scions, this sounds like a good alternative. Problem is, you need to register as an adventurer before receiving missions.”

“Kiyo and I have registered already.” Shira shrugged. “We thought it would be a good place to improve our skills.”

“I have as well.” Emeraude added. “Those jobs are easy money for someone like me.”

Lyrian and Khei’to looked at one another and collectively shook their head.

“We haven’t.”

“Then you better do it now.”

To say the Elezen and the Miqo’te looked reluctant was an understatement.

“I can earn money just fine with my songs and odd jobs. That’s what I was doing in Limsa Lominsa. Adventure isn’t really my thing.”

Khei’to also shook his head vigorously.

_I am a White Mage, not a sell-sword!_

“Besides, people are always looking for a healer. There’s money to be earned healing people.”

Khei’to strongly nodded. Emeraude, Shira and Kiyohime looked at one another.

“Guess we better find the Scions, then. But not today. Night is falling.”

They headed to the Carline Canopy and dined together. No long after they started, they were joined by a trio of Miqo’te girls and a scaly Lalafell. Kiyohime greeted him warmly.

“Ao-chan…”

“My love!”

Lyrian looked at the Lalafell. Aside from the pristine scales on his cheeks and arms, the conjurer looked like any Dunesfolk, with wide sea blue eyes and sunshine blond hair that spiked in every direction. He was wearing robes as white as his scales and wielded a staff like a shepherd’s cross, complete with a bell. The way Kiyohime hugged him, it was obvious she loved him deeply, and Aomaru seemed to return the feelings if the joy on his face was anything to go by.

“I got worried sick when I heard you and your friends had been ambushed in Tam-Tara. For a moment, I even considered coming to your rescue. Zombies aren’t living beings, so my oath doesn’t apply…”

“I am fine, my love. We all are, thanks to a timely rescue from our new friend.”

She turned to Lyrian who gave a polite greeting. Aomaru bowed.

“I owe you a debt for saving my beloved. Kiyohime means the world to me. I dare not imagine what I would have done if she had fell.”

“Then don’t.” Lyrian smiled. “For some reason, seeing you two reminds me of people I knew. They loved each other deeply and I remember wishing I loved my partner the same way they did once I got one.”

He put a hand on his forehead. The dull ache of memories returning was making his head throb.

“…It was my parents. I don’t recall their face or their name, but they loved each other and always open in their affection.” A grin crossed his face. “For years, I believed their names were Honey and Sweetheart. I don't think I heard them call each other another way when they were home. And, whenever I watched them, I wished I would love the person I fell for the same way they did. I admired them.”

“Was your childhood happy?” Shira asked, a smile on his face.

“Definitely. I had siblings. I think… I think I was the oldest. I can’t remember them clearly yet, but I know I had at least a younger brother and a younger sister. I remember teaching my brother water manipulation and helping settle down an argument between him and my younger sister.”

Emeraude smiled sadly.

“Lucky you. I wish I could say the same…”

“Your parents were so evil they turned into Voidsents by simply being too close from your Soulstone.” Shira winced. “Enough said.”

Emeraude was about to say something when something small, white and fluffy jumped in her arms with a squeal. The Dark Knight caught it and put it on her lap.

“Yes, Snowy. I’m fine. I’m fine. Stop making a fuss!”

It took Lyrian a moment to recognize the furball.

“A snow mouse!?”

It was indeed a mouse, though about the size of the rodents that plagued the Noscean plains, with thick white fur and a long fluffy tail. Emeraude caressed her pet.

“His name is Snowflake. I found him in the snow one day and nursed him back to health. He has been with me ever since.”

“It’s cute.” Shira smiled. “Can we pet it?”

“Depends. He has the habit of biting the fingers of people he doesn’t know, but he didn’t bite Khei’to so I guess he won’t bite yours either.”

Kiyohime gave the mouse a weird look.

“It _bites?_ ”

“Yes. Coertan snow mice are predators. They will not hesitate to attacks creatures bigger than themselves in search for food.”

“Hard to believe. It looks too cute.”

“So are you.” Lyrian shrugged. “And yet you’re a warmaster.”

Shira scoffed while Aomaru made a shocked face. The Ao Ra grinned.

“Smooth.”

Emeraude chuckled.

“He has a point. Beauty doesn’t equate harmlessness. Snowy can and will fight if given the chance. The only reason I did not take him in Tam-Tara is because he was tired. Otherwise, I can guarantee I have seen him take on dragons and win. He goes for the throat.” A smile crossed her face. “When heretics kidnapped Artoirel to insult Count Edmont, we came to his rescue together. Following that, Artoirel described him as ‘The most bloodthirsty rodent he had ever seen.’ In Snowy’s defense, he did go for the heretics’… manlier parts.”

Lyrian cringed.

“Bye the gonads. Ouch!”

He held a careful hand to the mouse that sniffed it and nibbled it slightly before accepting the caress. The rodent was soft. It was obvious Emeraude was taking care of it. He didn’t flinch when Khei’to petted it and let Shira and Kiyohime caress him. The three Miqo’te girls joined the group and went to Khei’to. Lyrian could tell right away the four were related.

The twins Runah and Lunah were the youngest of the siblings and looked exactly alike except for a single trait, which Lunah shared with her brother: all three had heterochromatic eyes, but Khei’to and Lunah had a blue left eye and green right eye while Runah had a green left eye and blue right eye. Ehli, the oldest of the four, had both eyes green. She also shared her brother’s pink hair color while the twins had pristine manes tied in identical braids. Ehli, on the other hand, kept her hairs in a more practical bob cut. Finally, all three were wearing their field’s classical gear, Ehli wearing the uniform of the Twin Adder while Runah had scale armor and, for Lunah, the classical protected tunic of archers.

The twins started cooing at the mouse, much to its pleasure. Ehli watched them, a smile on her face. She turned to Khei’to.

“So, did your mission go well?”

Khei’to strongly nodded and encompassed the group before putting a hand on his heart. Ehli nodded.

“You made friends. It’s great.”

“And not just any friends.” Emeraude added.

She began telling about Tam-Tara. The Miqo’te sisters listened with interest, Aomaru with them as he sat next to his wife, his head in the crook of her neck. Emeraude had just finished her tale when Miounne came to the group.

“Lyrian? I have a message for you, from Baderon in Limsa Lominsa.”

Lyrian turned to the innkeeper.

“Baderon? What could he want?”

He took the brief and opened it. There was a letter, not from the Drowning Wench’s owner but from Jacke.

“Uh, back to business, I see.” He turned to the group. “I’ll have to go to Limsa Lominsa soon, most likely tomorrow. The leader of the Rogues’ guild needs my help with an affair in Aleport. Something about the cavern of Sastasha. All the rogues available are called and he wants to know if I’m free.”

Shira and Kiyohime looked at one another.

“It would be nice to see Yui and Kiyoko again. We’ll come along, if Jacke doesn’t mind working along more than just rogues.”

Emeraude was thoughtful.

“I have never been to Limsa Lominsa. People in Ishgard depict it as a lawless town of cutthroats and cutpurses, where everyone carries an axe and is out to kill his neighbor...”

She was cut by Lyrian’s deep laugh.

“That was before Admiral Merlwyb took over. Now, believe it or not, piracy is outlawed unless specifically approved by the Admiral – and only against Garleans. These state-approved pirates are called corsairs, but they have lost none of their edge. And even though people are rowdy and enjoy a good fight, they enjoy a good drink and a good song just as often, and the city is anything but lawless. Between the Yellowjackets, the Mealvaan Custom and its arcanists and, of course, the Rogues’ Guild to enforce the Code, any would-be lawbreaker is in trouble with a capital T.” He shrugged before the dark knight’s skeptic look. “I live there, remember? I work at the Drowning Wench as a singer and as a handyman the rest of times. And, naturally, at the Rogues’ Guild whenever a mission pops up.”

Khei’to pointed at himself and gave a thumb up. Shira and Kiyohime nodded.

“We’re coming.”

Emeraude sighed.

“Majority wins. Limsa Lominsa it is.”

“We should take the airship.” Lyrian suggested. “I know I’m attuned to the aetherytes of all three major cities…”

“Likewise.” Shira nodded.

Khei’to winced and shook his head.

“Me neither.” Emeraude looked down. “Ishgard and Gridania are the only cities I can reach via the aetheryte network.”

“Then we’ll take the airship.”

Shira, Kiyohime and Emeraude had their room at the inn while Khei’to and his sisters had a house in Gridania. Lyrian took a room at the Canopy and slept there. They met at the docks the next day, Khei’to bringing with him passes for Emeraude, himself and the Doman siblings. As they flew to the pirate city, Lyrian took his linkpearl.

“Jacke? It’s me. How are you doing?”

At the other end, Jacke smiled brightly.

“ _Lyrian! Good to hear ‘bout ye, lad. I’m doin’ fine. An’ ye?_ ”

“Doing great. Apparently, the Elementals aren’t mad at me anymore. I can cross the Twelveswood at will. Also, I made friends, two of which Yui and Kiyoko will be happy to see.”

“ _What? Really?_ ”

“Yep. Shira and Kiyohime Kaburagi. An archmage and warmaster in-training who fled Doma alongside Yui and Kiyoko. They offered to come along to see their friends again.”

Jacke hummed.

“ _An archmage an’ warmaster… ‘Twas goin’ to be rogues only, but more help’s welcome. I’ll take ‘em along._ ”

Lyrian nodded.

“There are two others: Emeraude de Fortemps and Khei’to Elakha. Emeraude is a Dark Knight specialized in defense and Khei’to is a White Mage. Are you fine with it?”

This time, Jacke took a moment to think.

“ _A tank’n a healer, huh? So much fer stealth, then. But with someone to keep us alive an’ another to take hits fer us, gotta admit we’re safer this way. Okay, lad. They can join._ ”

Lyrian smiled.

“Thanks Boss. Where do we meet?”

“ _Aleport._ ”

“Got it. We’ll take the ferry, then. See you soon.”

“ _See ya soon, lad._ ”

Lyrian hummed and turned to the group.

“Jacke knows we’re coming and is fine with you helping. He’s waiting at Aleport.”

“I remember there is a ferry at the pier.” Shira frowned. “Will it take us there?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” The Au Ra looked at the sky. “We should reach Limsa Lominsa by midday. Time to grab a snack…”

“The Bismarck makes delicious finger sandwiches if you don’t want to stop. Though I doubt there’s any emergency…” He took his linkpearl. “Jacke? Say, do we have time for a quick snack before the mission?”

“ _Yup. Be waitin’ fer ye at two the afternoon._ ”

“Got it. So, we got time for lunch at the Bismarck.”

Kiyohime jumped in happiness.

“The food there is great.” Shira smiled. “Different from what we eat in Doma, but delicious nonetheless. I thought Kiyo-chan would join the guild after our first time, but she decided against it. This didn’t stop her from picking recipes on the road.”

Emeraude turned to the Lalafell.

“You cook?”

“Of course! I am a proper Doman lady. Housekeeping is part of our duties.”

Emeraude turned away, obviously embarrassed.

“Are you… of noble birth?”

“No. Our parents were traveling merchants.” Shira shook his head. “Our home was in Namai, but we often traveled from village to village and even to Reunion, in the Azim Steppes, to sell our products. But Little Sister wanted to become a proper lady so Mother taught her.”

“I see.” Emeraude mused. “Different cultures.”

Before Shira’s puzzled face, she explained.

“As you already know, I belong to Ishgard’s nobility. My parents were minor lords, but lords nonetheless. It shames me to say it, but I never learned cooking. We had servant for this and housekeeping.”

Kiyohime crossed her arms.

“Every Doman lady, from the wife of the king to the humblest worker, knows housekeeping and how to defend themselves with any tool they first get their hand on. I admit to having a fondness for weapon-wielding, but the way I see it, this is merely an expansion of knowing self-defense.”

“Little Sister is slightly exaggerating.” Shira reassured. “It is true that many women in Doma aspire to become proper ladies, but not all of them walk this path, and not all of them are successful, especially with the Garleans breathing down on our neck. Kiyo-chan successfully became one thanks to Mother’s strict training and our journeying making so the Garleans couldn’t keep track of us easily. There were things, martial training being the foremost, that she was able to practice that others couldn’t.”

This time, Emeraude looked downright embarrassed.

“Doma’s definition of a lady and Ishgard’s are more different than I thought. Highborn ladies such as myself are not expected to know housekeeping – we have servants and maids for that. But we do know sewing and are versed in the arts of singing and painting. Education naturally is part of the course. Most highborn ladies are well-read, and some even go to Saint Endalim Scholasticate. I actually graduated as one of the Trinity, the three top-ranking students, two mere weeks before my wedding.”

“What about fighting?”

“Rare. Very much so. Every boy of noble birth has to learn at least some notion of swordsmanship, maybe even become a knight, but women are not expected to be martially inclined. Most who do learn conjury to support their husband. Those who pick a weapon are the minority. My own parents refused that I learn weapon or magic-wielding, deeming it too un-ladylike.” Emeraude laughed dry. “This despite my mother being a thaumaturge. I learned the arts of the Dark Knight behind their back. Had they known I was disobeying them, they would have killed me. I was just a tool in their hands to further their ambitions. They struck gold when Count Edmont agreed to marry me to Artoirel, and our wedding was their moment of triumph… Ironically enough, this was also the day of their demise.”

Lyrian frowned.

“You make it sound like your parents were the biggest social climbers in Ishgard…”

“I wouldn’t have spelled it another way. They had but one ambition, and it was to get as high as they could on Ishgard’s social ladder. For this, they were willing to pull all stops. Nothing was below them, not even numbing me to the point I spent many years with a heart of ice, numb to the world, unable to feel a single spark of emotion. I was naught but a tool in their hand, and I will always loathe them for this. It is only thanks to me accidentally stumbling on the Dark Knight Soulstone that I was able to feel again. A Dark Knight’s magic is fueled by our emotions. The moment I found it, I started feeling again. This is why I said before that training in the Dark Arts was therapeutic.”

Khei’to caressed Emeraude’s shoulder softly in a comforting gesture. The Dark Knight smiled back.

“I was going to say your parents were assholes, but we know what happened to your wedding.” Shira crossed his arms. “No need to say more.”

“Yes. In the end, their demise was ironic to say the least.”

Finally, the airship reached the city of Limsa Lominsa. Emeraude and Khei’to, who had never seen it before, clung onto the railing to catch a better look. The Miqo’te whistled. Emeraude herself nodded in appreciation. The white walls and towers of the harbor city reminded her of the spires of the Vault, but the city felt more bustling and alive, warmer. She could feel the salty air and hear the tide washing on the walls, a steady thrum that seemed to harmonize with her heart.

She had never seen the ocean before, and the sight almost overwhelmed her. All this blue, going endlessly until she couldn’t tell sea and sky felt frightening in a way, as if she would get lost. But the gentle waves lapping at the cliffs felt comforting somehow. She found it strange. And Limsa Lominsa, despite the similar color themes, felt decidedly different from Ishgard.

They docked at the airship and followed Lyrian, who took them through the Drowning Wench and waved at Baderon and headed to the Coral Tower. He turned left before they reached it and headed to a tower from which delicious scents came from. The Bismarck, one if not the best restaurant in Eorzea. The group sat and was offered the menu.

“Let’s see, let’s see…”

Shira went straight for the pea soup while Kiyohime ordered a cheese risotto. Lyrian decided he was hungry for fish and called for a tuna miq’abob. Emeraude and Khei’to took longer to choose. The Dark Knight eventually went for her favorite food: pies, and picked the shepherd’s pie. Khei’to was last and chose the raptor stew. Lyrian asked for Noscean orange juice to go along.

“The aetheryte is just down this path.” The Duskwight offered the Dark Knight and White Mage. “Go harmonize to it while they prepare our food.”

“Alright.”

The pair left. Kiyohime closed his eyes and hummed the air.

“Somehow, it reminds me of the Ruby Sea.”

Shira shook his head.

“The air is different. It feels… thicker, wetter and yet lighter. I guess elementals of water and wind must abound in the plains.”

“You would be right.” Lyrian confirmed. “Water and wind-aligned aether currents flow strongly through Vylbrand. The more skilled pirates use them to navigate, but the skill is rare. I’m surprised the Maelstrom isn’t doing more to take advantage of it.”

“The aether is much thicker in Eorzea than in Othard. It is one thing I noticed when I first came.” He opened a hand and a swirl of fire appeared. “My spells are much more potent. It took me some time to adjust.”

“Uh.”

Lyrian closed his eyes, searching in his mind whatever lore could relate to Shira’s remark.

“If my memory serves me right, there are tales about the flow of aether and a place called Silvertear Lake, in Mor Dhona. They said that, in the first age of the world, the dragon king Midgardsorm came to Hydaelyn from a faraway realm. He descended in Eorzea and, upon arriving to Silvertear Lake, he made a pact with the Mothercrystal. In return for guarding the place, Hydaelyn would bless his children and welcome her as her own. Now, for some reason, many people consider the lake to be the source of most of Eorzea’s aether, a wellspring of sorts. I also heard from foreigners that life – and aether – flow more strongly across Eorzea than in other continents. Now, I am afraid I have no idea why.”

“I didn’t expect the Eorzeans would be aware of it.” Shira raised a brow, surprised. “I thought it would be natural to them to be powerful spellcasters, and they could be surprised by the clumsiness of foreign mages having to adapt.”

Lyrian laughed.

“Between Sharlayan, the Allagan Empire and the mage cities of Mhach, Amdapor and Nym, Eorzea had plenty of time to develop their theories about the aetherflow, trust me.”

Emeraude and Khei’to finally returned and sat. It didn’t take long for food to arrive. Lyrian smiled as he saw Emeraude feed pieces of meat to her pet. Khei’to noticed it as well because he gave it some raptor meat.

“Does it eat fish?” The Duskwight asked.

Emeraude shrugged.

“No idea. You can try.”

Lyrian nodded and gave Snowflake a piece of tuna. The rodent sniffed it before turning away.

“Uh, no fish meat. Good. It means more for me.”

On this, he took a huge bite. Shira eyed the kebab.

“Want some?”

“Why not?”

“Alright… but can I have a spoonful of your soup in return?”

“Fair enough.”

Soon, the group found themselves sharing dishes. It was an experience, and a pleasant one. As it turned, Emeraude was just like her pet: not overly fond of fish.

“You won’t like Othardian cooking, then.” Kiyohime smiled. “Especially Kugane’s. Raw fish is common, especially with rice and sweet-sour sauce. They call it sushi.”

“Alright, I’ll know what to avoid. Personally, I prefer pies and dishes with a crust. They are warm and filling.”

“I always found them heavy on the stomach.” Lyrian mused. “My own favorites are sweet dishes, those who have fruits, syrup or honey. Doesn’t say I won’t eat anything else, though.”

“As long as it’s edible…” Shira shrugged. “Down it goes.”

Kiyohime smiled.

“Maybe is it because of Ao-chan’s favorite diet, I enjoy dishes heavy on vegetables and cereals. My love is vegetarian and refuses to eat meat, but eggs and milk are fair.”

“Really?”

“Ao-chan isn’t fond of hurting the livings.”

Khei’to licked his lips.

_We Keepers are hunters. Steak and meat are our bread and butter._

“Anything you don’t like?” Lyrian asked.

Khei’to shrugged. Their plate cleaned, the group went to pay but Lyrian stopped them.

“As far as I’m concerned, a dinner’s not over without something sweet in the stomach. I’ll have a chocolate pearl to go.”

His desert in a hand and their stomach full, the group finally left to the docks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... Gridania is finally behind. The next two chapters will occur in Limsa Lominsa. Also, we get to meet Aomaru and Khei'to's sisters, as well as Emeraude's pet. Trust me, the critter is fierce.


	9. Steel and salt

Aleport wasn’t very far from Limsa Lominsa. It took half a bell for the group to reach it. They were greeted by Jacke, V’kebbe, Perimu, Yui and Kiyoko. The ninjas fondly greeted Shira and Kiyohime, who were just as happy to see their friends.

“I feel like it’s been a lifetime!” Yui smiled. “How are you two doing?”

“Great. As you can see, we made friends.”

“And quality ones at that.” Kiyoko looked at Lyrian. “We fought together at Swiftperch. Let me tell you something, this is one Duskwight that is not to be trifled with. He’s the one who killed Baenryss, and felled an _oni_ and its summoner right after.”

Kiyohime turned to Lyrian, disbelief on her face.

“You killed an _oni_? Really?”

“Yes.” Kiyoko nodded. “And to what Jacke told us, it was an _onigawara_.”

Lyrian raised a brow.

“Excuse me, I’m afraid I didn’t understand some of your words…”

Shira winced.

“Of course. I guess there are some words even the Echo doesn’t translate. _Oni_ is how we call demons and other kinds of nasty spirits. An _onigawara_ is a moving statue.”

“A gargoyle.” Emeraude realized. “As for demons, in Eorzea, we call any creature from the Void a Voidsent. We fought some of these in Tam-Tara. I guess the Echo doesn’t translate the words because they have a different meaning.”

“Oh.”

“And he was fending off sleep during the fight.” Yui grinned. “The Boss had to drag him to the Drowning Wench after the fight because he could barely put a foot before the other.”

“It was really that big a fight?”

“The whole hamlet was stained red all the way to the windows.” Lyrian explained. “A hundred Serpent Reavers against twenty-four rogues and the same number of Yellowjackets. We managed to cut the Reavers’ numbers to manageable numbers with several volleys of arrows and Yui and Kiyoko’s ninjutsu. Then it was the melee. We lost nine rogues and about twenty Yellowjackets, but none of the Reavers made it out alive. And this was after we foiled their attempt at blowing the Victory. The Reavers struck one bell before the dawn, when the night is darkest. Dawn was rising once the fighting stopped.”

“It was a huge fight.” Emeraude nodded. “I have yet to raise my sword in one such encounter, but I know battles between Ishgardians and Dravanians can reach a large scale.”

“Be glad you haven’t. Those kinds of encounters are pandemonium, and I don’t just mean in the chaotic sense of the word. I mean in the hellish one as well.”

“Here’s to hopin’ our trip’n Sastasha won’t end in a ranged scuffle.” Jacke crossed his arms. “We rogue’s not made fer that. We strike in the dark, unseen. Open battles like Swiftperch’s not our thing. Leave it to the Yellowjackets if we can afford.”

“Of course. So, show the way?”

Jacke nodded. The group left Aleport to Northern La Noscea but stopped before that. Sastasha was a maritime cavern running under Western La Noscea, and Lyrian noticed nearly every rogue was there, Moensath among them. They greeted him warmly and welcomed his friends along. It helped that Shira and Kiyohime were close to Yui and Kiyoko.

Emeraude seemed disturbed by the men.

“Problem?” Lyrian asked.

“Well… I would lie to say I’m used to being around… such people.”

“The rogues are a necessary evil.” Lyrian shrugged. “Yes, they are basically the polar opposite of Ishgard’s shining knights. But without them, Limsa Lominsa would be as crime-ridden as Ul’Dah.” A smile crossed his face. “Besides, you know as well as I do some criminals are high enough in society that justice is powerless against them. Now, something cold and sharp in the back…”

Jacke barked a laugh.

“Amen to that, lad!”

They entered Sastasha. Emeraude jumped as the smell assailed her nose.

“It stinks!”

The air was thick with salt and decaying sea life. The Dark Knight rubbed her nose several times and shook her head. It wasn’t sickening, but it was definitely offsetting.

“A chance we didn’t take the boat.” Lyrian smiled. “You look like the kind to get sea-sick at the first roll.”

“The sea is really not my thing. I prefer the forests or the snowlands.”

They crossed the cavern, looking for any trace of pirate activity. There seemed to be none, only maritime life that they felled when it got in their way. In a cavern, however, Shira found a piece of bloody parchment.

“ _The Captain likes his sea Blue_. What does it mean?”

“Who knows…?”

“Maybe we do, actually.” Kiyoko told the group. “We scouted the grotto while you were dealing with the wildlife. There’s exactly nothing telling us of pirate presence, except for one thing.”

The group of five followed the ninja to a coral formation. The rest of the rogues had gathered there.

“Look at the corals. There’s a mechanism hidden.”

“You’re right.” Emeraude nodded. “Let me guess, the parchment tells us which coral to activate to reveal whatever is hidden around, probably a secret passage.”

She headed to the blue coral and checked it. There was indeed a switch, which she flipped. A stone removed itself from the wall to reveal another switch. Lyrian went to flip it… and dodged the claws of a massive coeurl.

“Of course, they left something to guard the entrance.”

Snowflake, who had spent the trip on Emeraude’s shoulders, went straight for the coeurl and bit its whisker. The predator roared in pain and bucked to try and dislodge the pest. It didn’t work, the little snow mouse hanging for dear life.

Jacke blinked at the scene.

“What in the bloody blue…”

He was cut when Emeraude ran at the coeurl and swung her blade. The coeurl caught it in its jaws. Lyrian, Shira, Kiyohime and Khei’to lost no time bombarding the predator with spells and arrows. The rogues quickly joined, their knives a storm that tore the giant cat apart. The beast dead, Lyrian flipped the switch. The wall moved away to reveal a path heading deeper in the cavern. Jacke shook his head.

“Eh, classical.”

Further in the cave, the rogues quickly realized the place was an honest-to-goodness pirate hideout.

“And right under our noses.” Lyrian mused. “Clever bastards!”

“Ye tell me, lad! And that cur is none other than Captain Madison, one o’ the leaders o’ the Reavers.”

Rogues and adventurers looked at one another.

“So, how do we proceed?”

“Sneak attack.”

“Actually…” Emeraude offered. “Shira, Kiyohime, Khei’to, Lyrian and I could draw his attention by entering the room and, when he moves to attack, you kill his men and apprehend him.”

Jacke grinned.

“Sounds like a plan, lass.”

So they did. The five Champions of Hydaelyn walked in the room casually, weapons drawn and grins on their faces.

“Hello there.” Shira waved.

Madison lost no time drawing his sword.

“Lookit that! Ain’t that a group o’ ‘venturers lookin’ fer trouble! Congrats, lads and lasses. Ye found it.”

“I think it is the other way around.” Lyrian waved a finger.

The Reaver froze when he felt the cold of a knife on his throat. His men were similarly threatened. Madison paled.

“Oh piss…”

“Indeed.” Jacke grinned.

Then he slashed his throat. Emeraude gave the rogues a weird look.

“You don’t even give him a trial?”

“Not with Serpent Reavers.” Lyrian explained. “Reavers are pirates tempered by Leviathan into devout worshippers. There is no arguing with them, no negotiating. Their main trade is kidnapping Lominsans to have them tempered by their Primal. The rogues have a kill-on-sight notice when it comes to them.”

“Oh. It somewhat sounds like the way the Holy See treats heretics.”

Lyrian held back a particularly biting remark. The Dark Knight was a Champion of Hydaelyn, just as he was. He would remain cordial, friendly even, as long as the subject of Ishgard’s mentality wasn’t brought up.

They eventually reached the core of the hideout, a large cavern fitted with several rooms, inhabited by pirates and their victims. Jacke gave sharp orders.

“Alright, lads an’ lasses. Kill every blue-branded cur you see swiftly an’ efficiently. Some o’ you gather the prisoners and bring ‘em safely at the entrance.”

Emeraude, Khei’to and the Kaburagi siblings could only watch in awe as the rogues swept through every corner of the hideout, killing any pirate they came across while guiding their victims to the exit. The group of five decided to dive further, eventually stumbling upon the Reavers’ ship, the Sultana’s Lap. They showed no mercy to the pirates who got in their way, only stopping when a huge Sahagin came to them.

“You ssshully our shpawning groundsss shorewalkers.”

Shira looked at Lyrian.

“What is _that_?”

“Sahagin.” Lyrian frowned. “A tribe of fish-like Beastmen worshipping the Primal Leviathan. The Reavers work for them.”

Kiyohime grinned.

“Fishmen? Brother, shall I filet this one into sushi or sashimi ?”

“I recall Emeraude is none too fond of fish. On the other hand, your katana is perfect for cutting sashimi, so…”

“Sashimi it is.”

Emeraude wasn’t sure whether they were joking or being serious. Kiyohime drew her curved saber, her _katana_ , and ran at the Sahagin. Her small size proved to be an asset, zipping between its legs while being too small for its spear to catch. Its water breath was a different story, and would have blown her off course if the Dark Knight hadn’t stepped before her and blocked the move with a barrier. Shira harassed the Beastman with Miasma and Bio while his carbuncle cast wind spell after wind spell.

Khei’to had the crucial duty of keeping everyone alive, but Emeraude knew her role and barely took more than scratches while keeping the Beastman’s attention on herself. Lyrian had fired a poison and wind-enhanced arrow that made the Sahagin even sicker. He was also humming a song that seemed to make the Raen’s magic even more potent. Then his eyes widened.

“Something’s coming from below!”

He dropped his bow, knelt and crossed his eyes.

“Reinforcement! More Sahagin are coming from beneath!”

He put his hands on the ground and focused. Blue aether seeped into the ground. Khei’to had no idea what it was doing until something went bump under his feet. He would have yelped if not for the fact he was mute.

“There.” The Duskwight grit his teeth. “I made the water so dense they can’t get through. Hurry up and finish it! I won’t hold forever!”

“Why don’t you just freeze the water?” Emeraude asked.

“Saltwater is harder to freeze than clear water, and nothing’s stopping the Sahagin from piercing the ice with their spears.”

Emeraude nodded.

“Alright, we’ll make it quick. Kiyohime?”

The Lalafell nodded. The Beastman was catching its breath… Kiyohime ran full tilt at it and, with a swift slash of her katana, sliced its head off. Lyrian breathed and released his spell. Smaller Sahagin emerged, only to see their leader lying headless on the ground and the adventuring group glaring dangerously at them. They quickly dived back. Khei’to knelt to Lyrian’s level and handed him an ether. The Duskwight gladly gulped it. Shira smiled.

“This is a nice trick you used. So, when you said you used your aether to control the sea, land and sky, this is what you meant.”

“This isn’t the most impressive I can do, but it did the job.”

“You look exhausted.” Emeraude noted. “If every use leaves you like this, no wonder you favor arrows and knives.”

Jacke and the rogues joined no long after.

“The whole place’s been cleared’n cleaned. How’s you guys?”

“Good.” Lyrian answered. “We killed their leader and the Sahagin left without further ado.”

Perimu looked at the corpse.

“Llymlaen’s wind, that’s Denn Orcatooth! And you killed him!”

Emeraude looked at him.

“Is he dangerous?”

“Ye kiddin’ lass? He’s one o’ the most wanted fishmen in Limsa. Rogues and Yellowjackets alike came after ‘im and bit it. Bastard’s tough, yet ye fell ‘im like it was nothin’.”

Emeraude shrugged.

“I didn’t find him any stronger than a Voidsent. And Shira and Kiyohime did a good job wearing him down before they finished him.”

“How ‘bout Lyrrrian?” V’kebbe asked.

“He was busy keeping the water solid to prevent backup from swarming us.” Shira explained.

“Uh. Useful.”

Emeraude rubbed her nose.

“Shall we leave this place? The stench is getting to my head.”

Lyrian smiled.

“Not overly fond of the sea, are you? Alright, let’s head back. Do you need us for anything else, Jacke?”

“Nay, lad. Ye can go.”

“Then let’s teleport back to Limsa Lominsa. It’s faster.”

The group did just that. Emeraude rubbed her nose fiercely.

“Ugh! Llymlaen forgives me, but I do not believe I could spend more than a few days in her favored city. The sea really doesn’t go by me at all.”

“To each his own.” Lyrian shrugged. “Truth be told, I’m not overly fond of Coerthas either. Mostly, it’s the cold.”

Emeraude smiled.

“I understand. I pray it shan’t stop us from working together.”

“It’s not like we have a choice. We are both Champions of Hydaelyn.”

Shira grinned.

“Personally, the place reminds me a little of the Ruby Sea, albeit in fresher. The aether is thicker as well. I like the punch it gives to my spells.”

“It’s true that the air brings familiar scents.” Kiyohime hummed. “Sui-no-Sato, Ao-chan’s hometown, is an underwater city. The two of us met on the shores of Isari.”

Lyrian turned to Khei’to. The Miqo’te shrugged. The sea didn’t faze him, not did the fact Limsa Lominsa was a harbor. The Duskwight invited his friends to the Drowning Wench and paid for their drinks and rooms. After raiding the grotto, Emeraude really wanted a bath, and neither Shira nor Khei’to said no to the chance of scrubbing the salt of their scales or fur.

The evening came, and with it, the time for Lyrian to grab his harp and sing his songs. Khei’to happily cheered him as he sang _Drunken Sailor_ while Emeraude quietly sipped her drink, trying to quell the feeling of annoyance in her chest. It was obvious the Dark Knight wasn’t used to this kind of company. Shira and Kiyohime were happily chatting with Yui and Kiyoko, talking about their more recent adventures. The song being over, Lyrian turned to Emeraude.

“You don’t like this place, do you?”

Emeraude grimaced.

“Far from me the wish to badmouth your fellow countrymen, but I admit I am hardly used to being among such… rowdy… common crowd. At least, Gridania was quieter.”

“The Lominsan are the work hard-party hard kind of people. I understand, though. This is the last place where an Ishgardian flower like you might find herself, so it’s normal you don’t feel at ease. You’re not used to it yet.”

“Ishgardian flower?”

“A black rose.” Lyrian clarified. “With sharp thorns. I feel sorry for the sucker trying to look for a fight with you.

“They will be very sorry indeed. And it’s true that, being a highborn, the company of my lesser was something I was told to avoid at all cost.”

Lyrian hesitated. The Dark Knight noticed.

“You have something on your mind.”

“I’m worried of offending you. As a fellow Champion, the last thing I want is for my opinion regarding Ishgard to sour things between us.”

Emeraude smiled.

“I appreciate. However, I am fully aware my country isn’t perfect. Please, speak up. People in Ishgard, especially among highborn, are loath to talk about its flaws.”

Lyrian sighed.

“I won’t. And don’t try to insist. I really don’t want to talk about it.”

Emeraude frowned and bit her lip.

“As you wish…”

The Echo chose this moment to trigger. In a flash, the Dark Knight _saw_.

_A sixteen-year old Lyrian and an elder Elezen walking through the snow alongside a Hyur couple and their two children, a boy and a girl…_

_“There are ruins in the Dravanian Forelands that predate Ishgard’s existence. By studying it, we will have clues regarding Ishgard’s ancestors.”_

_“Just because we study the past doesn’t mean we’re heretics! We just want to know who our ancestors were. Ul’dah traces its origins to Belah’dia and Gridania to Gelmorra. Which city stood before Ishgard, and what was its history?”_

_The group sitting around a campfire, Lyrian’s voice rising in the cold air. The daughter’s voice rising after…_

**_Children of the land, do you hear? Echoes of truth that once rang clear._ **

_Lyrian listened and wrote the song down._

_“The fabled Dragonsong.” The father explained. “We took a lot of risk to find the lyrics.”_

_“Every conflict has two sides.” The mother added. “History is merely the winner’s take on it.”_

_The group running from warriors clad in the armor of the_ _Temple_ _Knights_ _._

_“Go! We will hold them off!”_

_“Master Jehantel, please, take care of Dastan and Elisa!”_

_“I will.”_

_The parents stayed behind, buying the bard and the three teens the time to reach the Forelands. Jehantel left them as soon as they reached Tailfeather. He returned hours later, grim. Lyrian’s face was bitter to say the least._

_“They weren’t heretics, they were historians! They were doing nothing wrong! Why did they kill them!?”_

_“They don’t make a difference. Ishgard is fanatical in its beliefs. The moment the subject touches the dragons – worse, the moment it implies man and dragons could have worked hand in hand, they will try to sweep the discovery under the rug and silence those who found it. Remember what Isobel said: every conflict has two sides, and history is merely the winner’s take on it. History is written by the winners, Lyrian. And they don’t take kindly to people contradicting them.”_

_Lyrian’s glare was harsh. His tone was venomous._

_“Ishgard hasn’t won the war. Not yet.”_

The vision ended. Emeraude panted. Shira looked at her.

“Are you alright?”

“The Echo showed me something. I need time to sort it out.”

Shira raised a brow. He wondered what she had seen. Emeraude left her seat and went out. The vision had deeply perturbed her.

Jehantel’s words rang through her head.

_History is written by the winners._

She was a highborn, a member of the Ishgardian nobility, and had been raised as such. She was a devout Halone worshipper who had graduated from Saint Endalim Scholasticate as part of the Trinity and was currently married to the heir of House Fortemps. The sole black spot on her record was being a Dark Knight and having had to run from Ishgard because of it. The main reason she didn’t look down on foreigners like her peers was because she was currently one herself and didn’t really have room to complain. But, she had to admit, adjusting to different cultures was difficult, as her time in Limsa Lominsa proved.

Until then, she had never been given reason to question what she’d been taught and shrugged off what people said about Ishgard as not knowing what they were talking about.

Problem was, Lyrian had seen a side of Ishgard. Its darkest. She didn’t know how much more he knew about her homeland, what else he had seen of it, but she understood why he would bite down biting remarks whenever she talked about the city. His mentor was right in his assessment: Ishgard could be deeply fanatical whenever its beliefs were concerned. This was why she had run in the first place.

Emeraude had never been given reason to question her beliefs. Lyrian wasn’t just an outsider, he actually had a reason to question the Halonic faith. She was surprised to realize she would enjoy the argument. The Duskwight called her from the inn’s entrance.

“I talked with Shira, Kiyohime and Khei’to about what to do next. Shira and Kiyohime have friends in Ul’Dah and this is the last city-state you and Khei’to haven’t visited. In for the trip?”

The Dark Knight thought a moment.

“Ul’Dah… I heard about it. The City of Gold is what people call it. I wonder how true it is. Fine, I’ll come.”

Lyrian smiled.

“I suggest buying light clothes, preferentially white. The Thanalan is otherwise warmer than Coerthas.”

“Noted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Sastasha is done while we get to see a new use of Lyrian's magic.
> 
> We also get to see a fragment of his past that may make things difficult once they reach Coerthas. Lyrian has reasons to hate Ishgard's mentality as much as he hates Gridania's...
> 
> Next chapter, Ul'Dah. This one may take awile, though. I'm not done writing it yet.

**Author's Note:**

> For information, Lyrian wears the Torrent set of Aiming and Gandiva. Also, the Bard's questline has been completed to lv 60, albeit with a twist and Lyrian completed the Lancer's questline with a twist, but said twist made so he cast away spear-wielding before beginning the Dragoon questline. Also, Pugilist questline completed to the end but Lyrian never became a Monk. His sole Soul Crystal at the moment is the Bard. He also has other talents that will be revealed during the story... and, as the tags imply, he is but one of the Warriors of Light. It's just that he is the viewpoint character.


End file.
